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THEOPHILUS WALLOP 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY 
OF A COUNTRY NEIGHBORHOOD 


BY 

JOHN K. EAST 

BLOOMINGTON, INDIANA 



I 





NEW YORK 

JOHN B. ALDEN, PHBLISHEK 

1890 


Copyright, 1890, 

BY 

JOHN R. EAST. 




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1 


THEOPHILUS WALLOP. 


CHAPTER I. 

Before the huge forests of Southern Indiana 
were but partly removed, and while the deer, 
wolf, and wild turkey were yet inhabitants 
thereof, Jonathan Clayborn, whose wife had 
died and been buried beneath the pines of old 
Virginia, in the company of an unmarried and 
aged sister, took his two little children and 
sought a new home in the then sparsely settled 
“ Hoosier State.” He first purchased eighty 
acres of land, built a rude log house, and began 
a pioneer life some forty miles east of the Wa- 
bash River. 

He wore away the deep grief occasioned by 
the loss of a beautiful and model wife, by sturdy 
blows in a successful effoH to fell the forest and 
reduce the wild, but fertile soil to a state of cul- 
tivation. After a few years of hardships, in- 
convenience, toil, and patient economy, which 
always fall to the lot of the advance men of 
civilization, he found himself in reasonably 
good circumstances. Being a man of steady 
habits, of strong physique, and industrious, he 
soon added to his possessions and cleared away 
quite a nice body of farm land. 

Other emigrants and settlers had also gath- 
ered around him, among whom was Anthony 
Wallop, who had disposed of his property to a 


8 


THEOPIIIL US WALL OP. 


consideral)le extent, in the far-oft’ State of Con- 
necticut, and purchased quite a nice piece of 
rich timbered land within a few miles of Mr. 
Clay born. Mr. Wallop was possessed of con- 
siderable cash, and he, too, in a few years. Lad 
his farm in a good state of cultivation. 

These two men liecame neighbors, for in those 
days neighborhoods were extended over more 
territory than' at present. ]\Ir. Clay born was 
some ten years younger than Mr. Wallop. He 
was a tall, well-built man with iron-gray hair 
that hung down behind his ears, which he could 
readily replace by a sudden toss of his head. 
He had a warm, generous nature, a kind heail, 
and took great pride and pleasure in entertain- 
ing his few visitors in real Virginia st3de. He 
built an exti-a room to his house for tlie accom- 
modation of the stranger who not unfrequentl^' 
enjoyed his hospitality while en route to enter 
land for his future home. 

Mr. Wallop was of quite a different disposi- 
tion. He was like his neighbor, tall, but slen- 
der, slim-visaged, and slightly stooped. His 
eyes were very dark and close together, Avhile 
he carried a sharp chin and nose. He was in a 
manner peculiar, but upon the whole, a quiet, 
good citizen. He had some odd notions about 
men and things, but his two leading hobbies, if 
we may call them sudi, were his ideas of dis- 
ci])line in family government and the accumu- 
lation of wealth. The man who accumulated 
wealth, in his judgment, embodied most of the 
elements of greatness ; and the child that was 
not ruled by discipline was sure to go to ruin. 
He had lived under the old rules of strict des- 
potic government as to children, and where 
moderate chastisement as to the wife was some- 
times not out of the way. 


A 1?0MA]^TIC ms TOBY. 


9 


In fact, be had taught Mrs*. Wallop that he, 
Anthony, was the head of the family ; and the 
good woman had long since learned not to 
cross him. He never laughed, and the nearest 
approach to it was a kind of wheezing chuckle 
which sometimes escaped him at some of his 
own peculiar sayings. 

He was the father of two children, Samuel 
and Theophilus. The mother was kind and 
aifectionate, and had she had a chance, would 
have been a most companionable woman. Sam- 
uel had inherited his father’s qualities and bore 
a striking resemblance to him. Theophilus, 
although at this lime very young, was develop- 
ing a disposition and nature so unlike that of his 
brother and father, that one would hardly think 
they were any kin whatever. 

Mr. Clay born had two children, Nellie and 
Joseph, both old enough to go to school ; but 
owing to the recent settlement there was no 
suitable Imilding and teachers were exceedingly 
scarce. Mr. Clayborn had determined, how- 
ever, to get his neighbors to join him in build- 
ing a schoolhouse, and then to secure the ser- 
vices of a teacher if possible. 

With these worthy objects in view, he visited 
Mr. Wallop to enlist his services in the enter- 
prise. He found that gentleman enpged in 
building an addition to his crib, an improve- 
ment necessary to garner tlie large yield of 
corn produced during the season. 

“Good morning,” said Mr. Clayborn, as he 
approached his neighbor. 

“ Howdy do?” said Mr. Wallop, looking up 
from his work in a quiet manner. 

“ How are your concerns? ” said Mr. Clay- 
born, cordially extending his hand. 


10 


TIIEOPHIL ITS WALLOP. 


“ Purty well, I believe,” said he, not quite 
understanding him. “ How’s yourn?” 

“ We are all able to be about.” 

Here Mr. Wallop resumed his work, while 
his neiofhbor o^lanced about him, meditatino: as 
to how he should best approach the subject. 
In looking toward the house he noticed the 
children peeping around the corner at them, 
and said: “Mr. Wallop, I see that you, like 
^ myself, have some children large enough to go 
to school, if we had the opportunity of sending 
them.” 

“Yes, I have two children, but I don’t know 
whether lamin’ would do any good or not,” 
said Mr. Wallop, laying down his axe. 

“I should regret very much if my children 
should never go to school,” was the reply. 

“ O yes, I reckon it does ’em some good 
sometimes, when they’re too young to work, 
but when they get purty near grown, about 
graduatin’ time, you can’t manage ’em ” said 
Mr. Wallop, emphatically. 

“O well, I think we owe it to our children 
to give them at least the rudiments of an edu- 
cation.” 

“Good trainin’ of children beats rudiments, 
for I’ve tried both.” 

Mr. Clayborn could not help laughing at the 
last remark, but fearing it might offend his neigh- 
bor, he good naturedly replied that he had not 
had as much experience as some in such mat- 
ters, but would like to try one term of school 
at least. 

“ ’Sperience, did ^mu say, in such matters? 
Wall, I reckon I’ve had ’sperience enough. 
Thar was m}^ brother Joel, who sent his son, 
nearly grown at the time, to a graduatin’ gram- 
mar school back in Connecticut, and my brother 


A BOMAJVTIC HISTORY. U 

had me to go and hear lijs son Dan’l parse — I l)e- 
lieve he called it — on the last day of the term. 
Well, I goes along with him, and thar stood a 
whole class of big boys and gaU, and right thar, 
before his daddy, when it come Band’s turn to 
say his lesson, he begun to say as fast as he 
could talk: ‘I love, you love, we love, they 
love ; ” and all this time a big, ugly, cross-eyed 
gal, a-blushin’ and lookin’ him in the face, and 
liim a-castin’ sheep’s eyes at her. I said to 
Joel, ‘ You ort to have better sense than to send 
your boy to a courtin’ school ; ’ and he laughed 
at me and called me an ignorant-rammis, and I 
got distrusted at the whole thing and left.” 

Mr. Clayborn was not much surprised at the 
ignorance of his neighbor, but was determined, 
if possible, to get his aid in the enterprise ; and 
now being better acquainted with his peculiar- 
ities than ever before, he determined to approach 
him from a different standpoint, consequently 
he said . “Mr. Wallop, you certainly did not 
get a good opinion of grammar schools while 
you lived in Connecticut. We could not have 
one here if we wanted it ; but do you not think 
you would like for your children to be able to 
read, write, and count interest?” 

“Count intrust, did you say? Well — yes, 
that would do purty well, if they got the proper 
trainin’.” 

“I guess it would help you somewhat if the 
l)oys could count the interest on your notes, 
sometimes.” 

“Yes, I have some money at intrust and 
can’t count it up right unless it comes out in 
even months or years ; for when Sol Bmce paid 
me his last note I lost seven days intrust, be- 
cautse the old woman and me couldn’t count it 


12 


THEOPHILUS WALLOP. 


np, and the note was for twenty-seven dollars 
too !” 

Mr. Clayborn, thinking that he had struck the 
right chord, said : 

“If all us neighbors will join together, we 
can soon Imild a schoolhouse and get a teacher 
who can teach our children to read, write, and 
cipher ; what do you say, Mr. Wallop, will you 
help us? ” 

Now Mr. Wallop was not the kind of a man 
to accept any proposition without first count- 
ing up the probable cost, and weighing the mat- 
ter in its financial results. He therefore placed 
his hand to his forehead and reflected awhile 
before giving his assent to the proposition. To 
him it involved an outlay of something like a 
half-dollar for books ; the teacher would have 
to be paid something for his time, and then the 
further question, as to whether an}^ teacher 
could be had who could properly govern the 
children and grown-up ^^oungmen of the neigh- 
borhood, was to be considered. He finally 
agreed, however, that if all his neighbors would 
help, he would join them. 

Mr. Clayborn soon obtained the consent of 
all concerned, and by general agreement the 
building was erected on his lands. It was put 
up in a single day, of rough timbers, the roof 
being put on out of clapboards, and the crevices 
“chinked” and “ daubed” wdth clay. The in- 
side furniture consisted of benches made of tim- 
bers split open in the middle, and legs j)ut in 
them. A large fireplace was built in the side 
wall, and the house was ready for use. 

Mr. Clayborn had secured the services of a 
sallow, slender-faced individual, who claimed 
that he had taught one school in the blue grass 
regions of Kentucky, as teacher of a three 


A l^OMAJVTIC mSTOBT. 


13 


montlis school, beginning the 15th day of De- 
cember. He was to teach reading, writing, 
spelling, and arithmetic to the double rule of 
thi’ee, at the rate of one dollar per pupil, and 
to “hoard round among the scholars.” 

A subscription paper was taken round for 
the purpose, the names of nineteen pupils were 
subscribed, and the new teacher, Mr. Israel 
Long, was hired to teach the first school ever 
taugbt in the Clayborn schoolhouse. Now it 
was well understood that Mr. Long was not 
one of “those fine-haired” graduates of an east- 
ern grammar school who had acquitted himself 
with honors ; but he was a good speller, could 
read any book upside down, and cipher to “fare- 
you-well.’’ At least, such was the reputation 
Mr. Long had given himself. But neverthe- 
less he was a tender, dyspeptic youth of twenty- 
three summers and one extra fall. He carried 
a first-class pen-knife, and boasted that he 
could “make the finest goose-quill pen of any 
man in the universe.” 

The art of teaching school in any commu-. 
nity is not possessed by every person, and the 
incidental duty of keeping first-class order and 
governing the school is not always without dif- 
ficulty, especially among raw recruits who are 
unused to confinement and study. The school 
was to open, however, on the following Monday, 
and Mr. Long looked upon the coming event 
with a feeling of pride and pleasure, 

CHAPTER II. 

Monday morning early, Israel Long took a 
small copy of Webster’s Abridged Dictionary 
under his left arm and started down the path 
to the schoolhouse, where had already gathered 


14 


^THEOPHILUS WALLOP, 


several of the larger boys from fifteen to nine^ 
teen years of age. These boys had concluded 
to kill two birds with one stone, by going a 
“ coon hunting” before day and then winding 
up the spoi-t by attending school. . 

To say that the new teacher felt the great 
weight of responsibilities which rested on him 
at this moment would l)ut feebly express liis 
feelings ; for not only did he feel the impor- 
tance of the occasion, but he indulged his im- 
agination with the great future, and could 
plainly see unborn generations doing homage 
to a great man who had started on his road to 
fame from the ‘‘ Cla^^born schoolhouse.” 

The craze for the latest fashions does not 
seize a pioneer neighborhood with the same ra- 
pacity it usually takes hold of the “upper crust” 
of society in the populous cities. The style of 
dress, sometimes, is of great advantage to a 
person just entering a circle of new acquaint- 
ances ; again, the style worn may throw some 
obstacles in the way of success to popular favor, 
and especially so where they are unusual among 
new associates. Mr. Long had a habit of wear- 
ing his hat on one side of his head, by which 
he made a great mistake as a teacher in this 
particular neighborhood. He wore a pair of 
very tight-fitting pantaloons, which to a man 
six feet high and weighing one hundred and 
twenty pounds, made him look entirely too 
much like a live pair of stilts to bring forth 
words of compliment from his new pupils. 

But there Avas such a dignified look of i)ale 
seriousness about him as to restrain for the time 
being any rude conduct on the part of those as- 
sembled. He bowed gracefully as he passed 
in at the door, and proceeded at once to build 
a fire in the long space left in the Avail for that 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


15 


purpose. In the meantime, the boys on the out- 
side were discussing the general appearance of 
their new teacher in terms an^dhing l)ut compli- 
mentary. Jesse Taylor said that he was the first 
live ghost he had seen in the daytime. Tom 
Jones gave it as his deliberate opinion that Mr. 
Long had been “melted and run into his 
breeches.” Jim Logan declared that it was the 
first time he had ever seen a grasshopper going 
on two feet, while Dick Stephens ran up to the 
door and shouted in a k/iid voice, “KANGA- 
RDO ! ” Mr. Long heard a great deal of loud 
laughing, but did not suspect that he was the 
subject or the cause of the merriment. His mind 
was engaged in the best mode to open the school 
and classify the scholars. 

All the pupils were present, except two, 
armed and equipped with a spelling-book, and 
two young men each with a piece of broken 
slate. At Mr. Clayborn’s suggestion the teach- 
ing of penmanship had been postponed until af- 
ter some progress had been made in spelling. 

Mr. Long, in a voice like a compound be- 
tween a human wheeze and the squall of a 
house cat, said : “ Come to books !” at which 
they all came into the room, and began to look 
at him as much as to say, “ What comes next ? ” 
He then arranged all the boys on one side of 
the roopi and the girls on the other. Then, in 
a deep, sepulchral voice, he read the seven rules 
of school as follows : 

1. Pupils must spell out loud, and if they do 
not study will be placed on the dunce-block to 
be laughed at. 

2. No whispering or talking allowed except 
at play-time. 

3. No fighting or quarreling allowed. 

4. You must not call any by nick-names. 


16 


THEOPHIL US M^ALL OP. 


5. No love-letters allowed between boys and 
girls. 

6. For breaking rules first time, go on dunce 
block. 

7. For breaking rules second time, use. the 
switch. . 

He next proceeded to place each student in 
proper position. This consisted in causing 
every one to sit erect with both feet on the floor, 
except the smaller ones, whose feet hung loosely 
and danfflino^ Tjeneath the bench. Each was re- 
quired to use a thumb-paper ” and keep his 
book right side upwards. 

It occurred to the mind of Mr. Long that it 
would be best to instruct the younger pupils 
first, and accordingly he took little Nettie Bur- 
ton on his knee and asked her in real Kentucky 
style if she knew her “ lettuz,” to which she 
promptly responded, “No, do you?” Now of 
course this answer was a little hard on the 
teacher, and was the occasion for a general tit- 
ter around the room, which caused Mr. Long 
to flush up in the face : but he said nothing ex- 
cept to admonish the school that laughing was 
not allowed. 

There is something peculiar about pupils 
laughing in school. A scholar who could not 
be made to laugh out of the schoolroom even 
by the most comic performance, will almost 
“split his sides” at the most trifling incident 
the moment he is put under restraint in that re- 
gard. The appetite for giggling and the conta- 
gion following it, is one of the difiSculties in 
keeping order. It is a pleasant malady, how- 
ever, usually brought on by some slight cause, 
but often spontaneous, beginning with a smile 
or a grin, then a giggle, a ha-ha and finally 
winding up with a regular convulsion accompa- 


A R02IANTIC HISTOBT. 


17 


nied with tears. It is so catching that when 
we see a fellow in a paroxysm of laughter, we 
immediately enter the contest and join the pro- 
cession. 

But there are exceptions to this rule, for 
there are those who are so deadly in earnest 
about the things of this life, that a monkey 
might exhaust itself upon them without produc- 
ing a ripple across their faces ; Mr. Long be- 
longed to this class, and regarded laughing in 
school as a grievous offense. It was compara- 
tively easy, however, for him to maintain order 
in this regard, for his stern features, sad complex- 
ion, and cold nature would have had almost as 
much effect on a genial soul as water would on 
fire. There is a novelty about the first few days 
of a new school which in a measure contributes 
to the enforcement of good government ; but as 
teacher and pupil become used to each other, 
and the days grow long and weary, the dispo- 
sition to break the temporary imprisonment of 
the schoolroom is more manifest, and especially 
so among boys who have grown to fifteen and 
sixteen years of age in the open air without the 
restraint of school government. 

At the beginning of the second week, Mr. 
Long was not able to detect any great amount 
of thirst for knowledge on the part of his pu- 
pils ; in fact, the alphabet to the young Hoosier 
minds then in his keeping was a puzzle indeed. 

He struggled on till late in the third week, 
when he made the discovery that the four larg- 
est boys could read words of one syllalde by 
spelling them through, while his aid was neces- 
sary in pronouncing f hem ; the younger class 
had learned the alphabet down to the letter Q, 
and Theophilus Wallop could say his letters 
backwards with his eyes shut. 


18 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP, 


A new difficulty now tbreatened the Clay- 
born school, for not only had the epidemic of 
laughing seized the pupils, but it had got into 
the minds of the five larger ones that it would l)e 
a good plan to get the teacher out coon hunting 
some night and ‘ ‘ regulate him.” Consequently 
the matter had l^een talked quietly around l)ut as 
it would be some time in maturing, Jesse Taylor 
proposed that if some trouble could be raised 
that afternoon, he Would “lick” the teacher if 
the other boys would stand by him. It was ar- 
ranged to bring on the disturbance by degrees, 
and immediately after playtime Taylor deliber- 
ately stuck a pin in little Dick Spooner, who 
sprang to his feet and yelled “OUCH” so loud 
as to startle both teacher and pupils. 

Mr. Long, however, was not surprised, for 
he had in a measure been put on his guard. 
He had overheard Taylor remark to his fellows 
that if the Kentucky grasshopper undertook to 
punish him, he would find that he had jumped 
on a “boss.” Besides, Mr. M^allop had given 
him one of his peculiar lectures on “trainin’.” 
His son Samuel had told him that Jim Logan 
had thrown paper wads at him when his back 
was turned, and that bad order prevailed in the 
school generally. This, with other symptoms 
of insurrection, had determined him to resort 
to more radical measures, consequently that 
very morning he had placed a veiy large beech 
switch in the corner of the room for instant use ; 
and on hearing young Spooner’s cries, he sprang 
for the weapon, but it had mysteriously disap- 
peared. Of course he was nonplussed and en- 
raged, and his effort to find the switch caused 
a general titter, which was entirely too much 
for his dyspeptic nature. Accordingly he seized 


A ii 03 rA]VTi(y liisToiir. 


19 


little Dick by- the ear and led him to the dunce- 
block, where he cried most piteously. A liltle 
o’irl also set up a plaintive wail, which caused 
Theophilus allop to go at once to the teacher 
and tell him that it was Jesse Taylor who had 
caused the whole trouble. 

At this, Mr. Long turned paler than usual, 
sprang at Taylor with great ferocity, gra])bed 
him by his long, uncombed hair, hurled him 
bodily against the low ceiling overhead, dragged 
him back to his seat, and with the calm remark 
that “another trick like that, and he would cer- 
tainly be punished,” slowly went back to his 
accustomed place, relieving his ^gers of odd 
bunches of Taylor’s foretop. lie released lit- 
tle Dick from his unenviable position and apol- 
ogized for the mistake. 

Taylor was much crestfallen, and sat for an 
hour or so trembling with fear, for he had sud- 
denly changed his mind as to his ability to 
“ lick” the Kentuckian ; but he was sullen and 
determined to have revenge. 

At the close of the school hour, Mr. Long, in a 
very earnest manner, stated that the^person who 
had taken his switch would be punished for it, and 
a close observer would have noticed that Jim 
Logan was somewhat interested in the remark. 

The fact of the rough handling Taylor had re- 
ceived at the hands of the teacher was much 
discussed among the patrons of the school ; and 
had it not been for the fact that he had mis- 
treated nearly all the boys of his acquaintance, 
and was known to be a tough youth, it would 
probably have cost Mr. Long his position as 
teacher ; but as it was, he was generally tendered 
a vote of thanks for his effort to keep order. 

The plot to get Mr. Long out coon hunting 


20 


TIIEOPIIIL US WALL OP. 


and even up matters, was by no means given 
up, and it Avas arranged to go on tlie second 
night folloAving the occurrence just mentioned. 
Mr. Long, who Avas on the alert, l)y a little 
Strategy became aware of their purpose, and 
proposed to foil them. In the meantime he 
had ascertained that it was Logan who had ta- 
ken his SAvitch. He readily assented to the 
proposed hunt, but good naturedly made an ap- 
pointment to meet Logan on the night preced- 
ing at the house of a neighbor, to give him his 
first lessons in penmansliip. Young Logan, 
AAho Avas living Avith a distant relative, in order 
to fill his engagement, Avhich AA^as to occur afler 
dark, had to go through a piece of dark Avoods 
to reach the place. There is to certain persons, 
especially young people, a kind of dread or hor- 
ror at passing alone through dark Avoods ; not 
that they are afraid of ghosts or anything of 
that kind, but it is so lonely ! And so felt Jim 
Logan on this occasion. He was just stepping 
across the little ravine, when a monster dressed 
in Avhite rushed quickly upon him from the rear, 
tied his hands behind him, and Avithout uttering 
a word, pointed in the direction of the school- 
house some half-mile distant. Poor Logan ! 
He thought his last hour had come. 

Prom the instant of the first assault, he felt 
the earth, as he imagined, ghdng aAvay beneath 
his feet, while his heart was thumping uaa ay at 
his ribs at a fearful rate. For some moments 
he was motionless and his tongue seemed par- 
alyzed. He finally made an effort to hollow, 
but instantly a great AAdiite hand was clasped 
OA^er his mouth and face, which almost took his 
breath. He then lost hope and surrendered to 
his fate. He began to think of all the mean 


A JiO.VANTIC IIISTOnY. 


21 


tliino's he had ever done, and for a iiioment en- 
gaged in silent prayer ; hat he was even denied 
this last comfort, for the monster hurried him 
away toward the schoolhouse, and soon his 
tremhling form had reached the plaj^ground 
where he was halted by a terrific jerk at his 
collar. Then followed a moment of awful si- 
lence, when the great monster in front of him 
unloosed his hands and whispered, “Show me 
your master’s switch ! ” 

Logan, without responding, led his ghost- 
ship some little distance and reaching beneath 
a log produced the lost switch, Avhen he was 
ushered into the log school building, and again 
the monster whispered into his car telling him 
to use it on his own person, which command 
he obeyed until he was motioned to desist. 
He was led to the corner of the room, and in 
the same mysterious whisper directed to- place 
the weapon there. He was now taken to 
the road again, and after several unintelligible 
movements on the part of his tormentor, he 
was directed to run to his home with all pos- 
sible speed and be ready for the hunt on the 
following evening. Suffice it to say that he 
obeyed that part of the command which directed 
a hasty retreat. With him it was a dash -for 
liberty, and the fleetness of a bird can only be 
compared to his speed as he flew down the road, 
bounding over the rough and frozen ground. 
It may be imagined that for once in his life 
the Kentucky school teacher indulged in a dark 
and gloomy smile. 

When school opened next day, there was one 
absent scholar in the person of Jim Logan, but 
all was quiet. As usual, the ghost story was 
told with all its horrors, and. even the custom 


fllEOPIIlL US Hr ALLOP. 


2 ^. 

of coon hunting was l)roken up for the winter. 
Somehow or other the teacher’s name got 
mixed up in the matter, but he taught out the 
school where Theophilus Wallop received his 
first lessons. 

CHAPTER III. 

“Theophilus,” said Anthony Wallop, while 
taking down from over the front door a long, 
well-trimmed switch, “I’ll learn you better 
than to steal water-millions from the neighbors 
while your mother and me are gone to church : ” 
and suiting tlie action to the word he at once 
proceeded to give his youngest son what he 
termed a “first-class dressin’.” During this in- 
teresting ceremony, not uncommon with Mr. 
A\billop, his little son, on whose shoulders and 
back the limb fell hard and fast, writhed in agony 
and begged in piteous tones to be freed from the 
torture ; but not until many bruises and marks 
had been left on his little body was he allowed 
to take his seat and sob away the pain inflicted. 
His Iwother Samuel had witnessed the punish- 
ment with a degree of interest peculiar to one 
of his make-up. 

“ Samuel,” said Mr. M^allop, “when you see 
tha't youngster at his devilment again, just let 
me know, for I intend to give him the proper 
trainin’.” 

“All right, pap,” said his eldest, and the old 
man with a consciousness of well-performed 
duty took a stroll to the field near by. 

“It was you that took the melon,” said 
“ Thof,” — as he was usuall}^ called for short, — 
after some effort between his sobs. 

“ Well, you got the lickin’,” said his brother, 
and again the little fellow burst into tears. 


A BOJfAJ^TIC Ills TORT. 


23 


Thus ended one of those domestic scenes 
common to the Wallop household, all of which 
grew out of the simple fact that Samuel at the age 
of twelve, had taken his brother, two years his 
junior, into the adjoining held of a Mr. Ward, 
purloined a green ntelon, of which they both 
had eaten, and Samuel in great haste informed 
his father that Theophilus had done the deed, 
and he had caught him in the act. 

The above incident will illustrate in a measure 
the difference in the disi)ositions of these two 
brothers. Samuel, as has before been stated, 
was like his father in a great measure. He was 
shrewd, unscrupulous, avaricious, and truthful 
only when a falsehood would not serve his pur- 
pose. He was extremely selfish, self-willed, and 
cunning. At home he managed somehow to get 
all his brother’s trinkets and small valuables for 
a trifle. If Theophilus became the possessor of 
a marble, a new toy, or a few cents in money, 
his brother in a few hours would be the owner. 
At home he kept his father posted as to all the 
bad things Theophilus did, and a great many 
thinofs he did not do: while at school he was 
equally busy in keeping up trouble between the 
pupils and teacher. He was his father’s favor- 
ite, possessing, as he thought, many qualifi- 
cations indicating a successful career. 

On the other hand, Theophilus was a gen- 
erous little soul ; usually good natured and ea- 
sily imposed upon, he allowed his brother to 
have his own way without hindrance. He was 
careless about his personal appearance, usually 
going with one suspender, shoes down at the 
heel, and pantaloons out at the knee. He could 
throw a stone with great accuracy, however, 
and kill a grasshopper at long range. He loved 


24 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


sport, and had the best reputation in the neigh- 
borhood for fighting bumble-bees. When quite 
young he was so homely that no one would kiss 
him but his poor old grandmother. At school, 
though not persevering, he was quick to learn, 
and usually stood pretty well up in his class ; 
but in those days when the scholars Avere few, 
and methods of teaching were in a crude state, 
this Avas no particular honor, as Avas illustrated 
by Mr. Clayborn’s question to him on one 
occasion. 

“Where do you stand in your class, The- 
ophilus?” he asked. 

“Next to head,” said Theophilus with a 
grin. 

“Good! my little fellow, here’s a sixpence 
to encourage you.” 

“ Thank ye,” said the boy, as he fumbled the 
coin in his fingers. 

“ Ho AA^ many are in your class?” said Mr. 
Clayborn , reflecti vely . 

“Me an’ another boy,” said he, and he gave 
Mr. Clayborn such a comic look that notAvith- 
standing his discomfiture he said to himself that 
tlie boy would make his mark in the Avorld. 

Not long after the above occurrences, the 
traveling minister, Bro. Jehu Thornbush called 
at the Wallop residence, according to the cus- 
tom of pioneer days, Avith his little hymn-book 
bound in red ; and after services and dinner, 
AAdiich ahvays came close together, Mr. Wallop 
and the pious man engaged in a long conversa- 
tion as to the best mode of training children. 
The minister, of course, believed in strict disci- 
pline. “Spare the rod and spoil the child” Avas 
a theme dwelt ()n long and eloquently by him. 
To his cultivated mind the young boy possessed 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


25 


SO much of the ferocity of tlie lower order of 
animals, and his nature Avas so impregnated 
with the elements of total depravity, that noth- 
ing was so wholesome and refining in its influ- 
ences as the SAvitch. Then, in addition to this, 
it was a convincing method of higher power, 
and brought them to the feet of their superiors. 
Humility, lie said, Avas one of the great princi- 
ples taught in the Bible, and if you could hu- 
miliate children in early life, they were likely 
to remain so after maturity. Besides, it instils 
into tlieir young natures a kind of fear of you 
which breeds humility, and humility breeds 
respect, lasting and enduring. 

This last and clinching argument so excited 
Mr. Wallop that he at once arose and took 
doAvn the familiar ‘‘ hickory ” from above the 
door, and exhibited it to his guest to convince 
him that he Avas not Avithout the most approved 
method of ‘ ‘ trainin’ ” the youth. It was a Avell- 
seasoned sprout, and bore evidence of frequent 
use, as the small end was splintered and broken 
off. 

While this animated discussion was going 
on, Theophilus, out of mere curiosity, had 
picked up the little red hymn-book, and was 
making a critical inspection of its contents, and 
was so engaged when the minister Avas in the 
act of leaving. Again the genius of Samuel 
Avas made manifest, for he at once bore tidings to 
the good man that Theophilus had stolen it, and 
as proof, pointed to the spring house Avhere he 
Avas deliberately turning its pages. The min- 
ister cast his eyes on the AvayAvard boy for a 
moment, shook his head in a solemn manner, 
and then looked squarely at Mr. Wallop, aaAio 
was already drawing his switch through his left 


26 


TREOPmLUS WALLOP. 


hand. The two exchanged glances, when Mr. 
Wallop sternly commanded Theophilus to come 
to him, at which the little fellow ran as fast as 
he could, pale and tremulous, and handed the 
book to its owner. 

Of course it would not do to allow an offense 
so serious to go unpunished, and Especially so 
in the presence of so distinguished a guest. 
Mr. Wallop proceeded at once to the parental 
duty of “trainin’” his undutiful offspring, and 
the ease and grace with which he wielded the 
rod, and the vdgor and animation manifested 
during the exercise, was entirely satisfactory to 
the aforesaid minister, who smiled religiously 
throughout the entertainment. 

Poor Theophilus ! He had been many times, 
ere this, introduced to this kind of proceeding, 
and he had, in -a manner, become used to it, 
like a horse to being curried, but he had never 
before been called upon to gratify the feelings 
of his -father and so distinguished a person as 
the traveling minister, and he certainly felt that 
he was doing double duty. His cries were ex- 
cruciating, his movements that of one stand- 
ing on coals of fire, and it seemed that his father 
would never stop. Samuel wore his usual grin, 
but Mrs. Wallop wiped her eyes with her apron 
and turned her back on the scene. 

At the end of this proceeding, more inter- 
esting to Theophilus than to the reader, he was 
allowed to crouch his bruised body down in the 
corner, and remain choking back his sobs as 
best he could until the holy man took his leave. 
He heartily congratulated Mr. Wallop upon his 
executive ability in rearing a family, and was 
lavish ill his encomiums on Mrs. Wallop for 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. <^1 

her good fortune in securing such n model hus- 
band. 

Words of fatherly kindness were given 
Samuel for his vigilant watch over the short- 
comings of his brother, and he was admonished 
to promptly report all acts of disobedience on 
the part of that brother with a view to his timil 
reformation. To Theophilus he was more di- 
rect, and after taking him by the hand, said : 
“Naughty and dissolute boy, your kind and 
benevolent earthly parent has very kindly in 
my presence taught you over again the Bible 
injunction, ‘ Thou shalt not steal.’” Theophi- 
lus was about to say that he had not stolen the 
hymn-book, but suddenly remembering that 
there was something over three feet of the 
switch left, he wisely held his tongue. “I 
hope, ” continued the minister, “that you will 
remember your father’s kindness and grow up 
to be a better man than you are a boy.” And 
with these consoling remarks, he moved on his 
journey in an effort to convert the pioneers of 
Southern Indiana. 

As soon as the minister was gone, Theophi- 
lus hurried away to the big apple-tree in the 
orchard, where he often went after his father 
had beaten him. Here it w^as that he brooded 
over his injuries, and in his inmost soul almost 
cursed the switch and the hand that used it. 
Although young, his mind and heart were in a 
state of rebellion against his home, and he 
would ask himself how long would he be thus 
mistreated? He knew that he was not a thief, 
and wondered whether other fathers beat their 
boys for trifling offenses like his father beat 
him. ‘ Some hours later, when he returned to 
the house, he noticed that his mother had tears 


28 


TUEOPIIIL US WALLOP. 


in her eyes, and when they looked in each 
other’s faces, l)oth began to weep afresh, hut 
nothing was said as to the cause, for they well 
knew what it was. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Some years passed without much change in 
the relations of the household, and Theophilus 
suffered himself to he imposed upon hy his 
brother because of the kindness of his mother. 
During tlie winter months both boys attended 
school and farmed in the interim. It was in 
school where “ Thof ” saw his best days in early 
life. He became a good speller, and was a 
champion at the game of “bull-])en” and 
“town-ball.” There was but one pupil who 
was anyways his equal at a spelling-match, and 
that was Nellie Clayborn ; the two contestants 
often standing on the floor for an' hour without 
missing a single word. Many were the times 
that Theoi)hilus and Nellie divided the school b^^ 
tossing up the broom for first choice, each plac- 
ing one hand above the other till the last hand 
that could hold the handle would win. 

Nellie Clay])orn possessed a beautiful form, 
a round plump face, beautiful white teeth, a 
coal-black eye, a rosy cheek, and a disposition 
as sweet as the blooming flowers ; while The- 
ophilus, with his big, awkward form, stooped 
shoulders, long Roman nose and awkward man- 
ner, standing by her side, made a contrast 
really laughable. Both were too young to 
think of love atfairs, yet he often wished he 
had a lister that looked just like her. The 
little sunshine of life which overtook Theophi- 
lus was away from home, for as he grew nearer 


A liOMAWTIC TIISTOBY. 


29 


manhood lie hated the door of his home, over 
which rested the detested switch. He had but 
little atiectioii for his brother and avoided his 
company whenever possible to do so. 

One little incident, however, for a time gave 
him some neighborhood popularity. How the 
custom originated we do not know, but it Avas 
regarded by all well-regulated schools as a very 
grievous oftense for an outsider to hollow 
“School Butter!” at the attendants. On one 
occasion, Jerry Halter, who at that time was 
not an attendant, was passing the school, when 
he yelled at the top of his voice, “SCHOOL 
BUTTER !” which instantly brought the entire 
school to the door to see who it was who had 
so grossly insulted them. 

Theophilus, on discovering Halter, sauntered 
^ up to him, and in language befitting a Briga- 
dier-General, commanded him to apologize for 
this insult, tialter gave theophilus a look ev- 
idently mingled with disgust and pity, and sized 
him up as a half lunatic. “Who are 
said he. “I am Theophilus Wallop, as you 
know, and stand at the foot of my class, except 
when such fellows as you come along, when I 
go to the head ; and as a pupil of Mr. Better- 
man, who teaches in District No 2, I command 
you, in the name of the school here assembled, 
to take back what you said, or take the conse- 
quences. ” “ AVa-a-11, Mr. Theophilus AYallop,” 
said Halter, “I’ll give you to Understand that 
I don’t take take back nothin’ I say, and if that 
don’t suit you, you young freckle-faced idiot. 
I’ll ‘wallop’ you, and clear out the whole 
school in less than no time.” At which the 
boy showed no signs of fear, but laughed in 
Halter’s face, and with a grin like a monkey. 


30 


THEOPIIIL US WALLOP. 


inquired whether he cleaned out whole schools 
at a time as a lousiness, or whether he* did it 
for mere amusement. This so enraged Halter 
that he gave him a rap over the head, at which 
Theoidiilus first laughed out loud, hut reduced 
the laugh to a peculiar grin, finally winding up 
with a very red face and a low shake of the 
head, indicative of a gathering storm of anger. 

All the boys laughed at ‘ ‘ Thof ’s ” awkward pre- 
dicament, and Halter regarding himself quite a 
hero, seized him by his somewhat prominent 
nose, and was proceeding to lead him like an ani- 
mal, but just then Theophilus gave him a heavy 
blow in the region of his breakfast which sent 
him to the ground where he lay almost lifeless and 
gasping for breath. A great shout of applause 
went up for young Wallop, and many of the 
heretofore timid ones rushed forward, spitting 
upon their hands, pulling off their coats, and 
manifesting many signs of desperation. The- 
ophilus here became somewhat ahirmed, for 
fear he had killed the fellow and would be hung 
for murder. Halter, however, soon began to 
recover, making some gestures which caused 
the boys who were so anxious for Idood a few 
moments before to beat a hasty retreat for the 
schoolhouse. 

Theophilus, seeing that Halter was yet fiat 
on his back, gathered one of his feet under each 
arm, started down a slight declivit}^ and cried 
out, “all that ant to ride, just get on the 
wagon ! ” and quite a number took advantage 
of the excursion rates, and almost smothered 
the breathless felloAv, who after being dragged 
over the rough ground in this manner, was only 
too glad to secure his liberty by begging the 


A no \fA /v no n 1ST on r. 


31 


pardon of the school and saying “ Calf rope ” 
three times. 

After this heroic vindication of the good 
name of the school, Tlieophilus’s popularity 
gained rapidly. Still, like most heroes, he 
was not allowed to claim the entire honor, for 
Billy Pate claimed that if he had not nit him 
the very moment he did, that he, Billy, was 
going to “ floor him with a board,” and Charlie 
Sands “ would have killed him sure, if his sis- 
ter, blast her! had not held him. Joe Bur- 
ton was just in the act of breaking the fellow’s 
nose while he was lying down, but he com- 
menced to move his foot, and he thought he 
was going to have a fit, and he did not think 
it was right to hurt a sick person. Even the 
model Samuel had snatched a button off the 
fellow’s coat while they were dragging him 
down the hill, and offered to sell it for a slate- 
pencil. As is usual with the bystanders in such 
cases, many of the boys claimed a part in the 
heroic encounter ; but after all, public opinion 
in the immediate neighborhood gave the credit 
and honor to Theophilus, who grinned and 
sauntered awkwardly about as though nothing 
unusual had happened. 

CHAPTEE V. 

During the four years following the inci- 
dents described in the foregoing chapter, The- 
ophilus continued on his father’s farm and 
attended school during the winter seasons, be- 
coming one of the best scholars in the neighbor- 
hood. He had not improved in his personal 
appearance to any great extent. He was almost 
six feet high, broad-shouldered, but slightly 


32 


mSJOPIITLUS WALLOP. 


stooped, and the only thinpj reinark ible fibout 
his attire was that his pantaloons, wliich were 
of the commoner material, were several inches 
too short, exposing a pair of home-made woolen 
socks far above his cowhide shoes. 

Up to this time, so far as was known, Tlieo- 
philus was wholly unconcerned as to the many 
handsome, winning girls with wliich the coun- 
try abounded. He cared little for society, ami 
.apparently seemed to take pleasure in his own 
meditations. His impetuous nature revealed 
his real thoughts, however, as will be seen in 
the following pages 

One morning, while Samuel and Theophilus 
were repairing some matter about the barn, 
Samuel who suspected that his brother enter- 
tained, to say the least, a friendly feeling for 
the very handsome, sweet-tempered girl, Nellie 
Olayborn, could not resist the temptation to 
cunningly give him a thrust. Accordingly, after 
first purposely introducing her name in the con- 
versation, he gave expression to the words, 
‘‘ Nell Cla \ born is notldn’ but a stuck-up, black- 
eyed weasel !” 

Theophilus’s eyes immediately flashed fire at 
this, and he at once administered a sharp re- 
buke to Samuel for the use of such language. 
The hot words which followed between the two 
gave rise to a trouble which lasted many a long 
day. 

“If Miss Olayborn is proud it is no concern 
of yours, and it does not justify you in calling 
her names,” said Theophilus in a tone of cen- 
sure. 

“ Oh,” said Samuel, “ you are sweet on her, 
are you ? And you can’t hear h a* name men- 
tioned without flying up like a pump handle ! ” 

“ I don’t like to hear any one spoken lightly 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


33 


of who has done you no harm; and as to her 
personal appearance, if I was a low-browed, 
narrow-eyed, sharp-nosed, hump-shouldered, 
knock-kneed, vicious, selfish ape as you are, I' 
would not speak disparagingly of others,” said 
Theophilus, in what was for him quite a burst 
of passion. 

I don’t like the Clayborn family; and if 
you are gone on this Virginia beauty, you’d 
better saddle old Gray, and move to the Clay- 
born mansion where you can enjoy the society 

of the silly, little giggling ” but Samuel 

did not close this sentence, for quick as a 
flash of lightning, Theophilus struck him a blow 
which caused the blood to stream from his face 
and sent him sprawling to the floor, when his 
cries brought Mr. and Mrs. Wallop to the scene. 

It was a scene, too, that Theophilus never for- 
got. It was a sad sight for the parents, and if 
Theophilus could have done so, in five minutes 
afterward the act would have been undone. 

Although he felt that his brother richly de- 
served all the punishment that he had given 
him, yet it so deeply grieved his parents, that 
he was indeed sorry. He remained silent while 
Samuel gave a horrible and distorted account 
of a very brutal assault made on him by his ^ 
brother, which statement was in a measure cor- 
roborated by his disfigured countenance which 
had become swollen and presented an exceed- 
ingly unsightly appearance. According to his 
usual custom he allowed the story to go on al- 
most uncontradicted to his parents. Samuel’s 
presentation of his grievance was both solemn 
and pathetic, assuming the role of injured in- 
nocence. His moans at first were mixed with 
vengeance, but when his mother called him 
‘‘ poor boy,” and his eye caught a fresh drop 


84 


TRE0PB1LV8 WALLOP. 


of blood, lie actually wept bitter tears, and felt 
very sorry for himself. When he looked in 
the mirror and saw the mutilated remains of a 
once sharply, curved and symmetrical nose, he 
gave vent to a fresh flood of tears in which his 
mother joined. 

Theophilus, who knew, that Samuel was play- 
ing upon his mother’s sympathy, felt a pang of 
remorse; but the subject out of which the trouble 
grew was too delicate to be mentioned. So he si- 
lently submitted to the severe words of censure 
from his parents without reply. This course 
was misconstrued by his father as the external 
evidence of a callous heart and vicious dispo- 
sition. To him it manifested a stubbornness 
which required severe punishment. The father 
decided that however large Theophilus had 
grown, his duty was to administer to him a severe 
flogging for his treatment of Samuel. He 
thought that not only was the punishment de- 
served, but that his duty as a parent absolutely 
demanded it. He was responsible for the bring- 
ing up of his boys, and should he fail in this 
instance, there was no telling what would be- 
come of this wayward son in the great future. 

The “hickory” still occupied its original place 
over the front door; accordingly he took it 
down, drew it threw his hand to ascertain if 
it was in good order, and then commanded The- 
ophilus to “rise up and take his dressin’.” At 
this remark Samuel seemed partially to recover 
and cast a triumphal glance at his brother to 
see how he would receive the injunction. A 
casual observer could have detected the raging 
storm of indignation which was manifestifi^ it- 
self in the face of Theophilus at that moment. 
His frame fairly shook as he sat hesitating to 
rise from his chair to be beaten as of old. He 


A liOMANTIC IIISTOBY. 


35 


had never in his life disol)e3^ed a positive com- 
mand given by his father, and now, what should 
he do? He had done many things in his life 
for which he was sorry and heartily ashamed, 
hut disol)edience of this character could not be 
charged to him. His father sternly commanded 
him to arise and receive his punishment. He 
hesitated, and it required a great effort to 
decide whether at his age, — almost a grown 
man, — ^lie should submit to further punish- 
ment, or whether he should rise, seize the 
switch and break it in pieces ; but his better 
self prevailed and he compromised with himself 
on the. subject. He determined to submit only 
on certain conditions. His hesitation onl}' de- 
termined the father more to carry out his pur- 
pose. He moved forward, rej)cated the com- 
mand, demanding why he did not obey. The- 
ophilus rose, witli a sad expression on his pale 
face which astonished even Samuel . There was 
a fixed determination in his eye wliich indicated 
that the scene about to be enacted would be of 
more than ordinary importance in the affairs of 
the AA^allop family. 

Before speaking a word, he lifted his left 
hand, and then in a very serious voice said : 
“ Fatlier, I know that I have not always been 
as dutiful as I should have been, and the con- 
sciousness of this knowledge has often been a 
severe punishment to me. Certainly if there 
is virtue in corporal punishment, you have 
done your full duty by me in that line. You 
have, ever since I was a child, taken Samuel’s 
statements and disregarded mine as to the 
]:)arty in fault. By this means I have suffered 
for things of which I was not guilty. I have 
tried to be honest and truthful, have obeyed 
all your commands, and will do so now, but 


36 


THEO PHIL US WALL OP. 


my nature will no longer submit to this kind 
of treatment, and I now present myself to you 
for the last opportunity you will ever have to 
strike me.” 

Mr. Wallop was too much angered to un- 
derstand the meaning of these words. He did 
not see the compressed lips, the fixed purpose 
in the eye, the pale cheek that said too plainly 
that upon the infliction of a blow the youngest 
son would leave the home of his childhood never . 
to return. Regardless of consequences, the 
misguided father inflicted several blows upon 
the motionless form, one of which lacerated 
the cheek. All this was received without the 
movement of a muscle. 

At the conclusion of these proceedings The- 
ophilus stepped directly to his mother, and 
kissing her on the cheek, instantly passed out 
of the door never to look upon the house of 
his birth again. 

CHAPTER VI. 

The emotions, hopes, and aspirations of a 
young man at the age of seventeen form a 
compound of peculiar sensations. It is the 
time in his life when his imagination is most 
busy in the construction of air castles for the 
future. He dreams of a home that shall be 
his own — and somebody’s else. All to him 
is sunshine, or tinted with the hues of the 
beautiful bow of promise, at the end of which 
there is sure to be, for him at least, the “ pot 
of gold,” of which he has so often heard in 
the legends of happy childhood. He begins 
to plan for himself, and looks forward to the 
time when he shall bid farewell to the home in 
which he has spent his childish years. 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


87 


But by and by he wakes to find that the 
pillow on which he has so sweetly dreamed of 
future success in life, and of happiness yet to 
come in a home far away from his friends, has 
been made soft and white for him by the 
hands of a loving mother, and that his home 
was built by the hard industry of the father. 
The time has come for him to leave that home, 
and he mentally lives the scenes of early life 
over again. He wanders over the green fields 
and meadows where he has spent most of his 
youthful days, and the herds, which it has 
been his task to care for, now seem to be his 
near friends. He sees the old 1101*80 quietly 
grazing in the distance, and the many journeys 
to the old mill, and the harvest times in which 
he and “Old Gray” have been companions 
now come to his mind, and cause a sad feel- 
ing in his heart as he contemplates a final 
separation. He moves back to the old home 
to take a final glance, when at the door he is 
met by the faithful house-dog which gives 
him his paw, as he has done a thousand times 
before, as a token of such friendship as only a 
faithful duinl) animal can manifest. Then a 
manly tear is brushed from his sunbrowned 
cheek. 

The old schoolhouse, with its long train of 
memories, and the days of joy spent under its 
roof, are remembered only to add to his sor- 
row. He remembers all the bright scenes of 
the past that are connected with his old home 
and the neighborhood, and cannot suppress a 
feelinor of regret that he must leave all this for 
other scenes in other lands. Yet if he con- 
ceives that he has been injured, and his heart 
has been repeatedly insulted, especially by 


38 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP, 


those who should have been his best friends, 
he lets this feeling outweigh all other consid- 
erations, and a point, for weal or woe, is turned 
in his life. 

The foregoing in a measure describes the 
feelings of our hero for some time prior to the 
occurrence mentioned in the preceding chap- 
ter ; and he needed only a stroke like this to 
decide his future course, and so he immediately 
started out entirely on his own resources. 

When he left home he passed down the 
road leading by the old schoolhouse, neither 
knowing nor caring where he was going. He 
had earned a little money during the last two 
or three years which he had been allowed by 
his father to keep as his own, but the thrifty 
Samuel, by the exercise of his natural talent 
in that line, had adroitly managed to obtain 
most of it for a small consideration, so that 
on this most important occasion he found 
himself in possession of hard cash to the 
amount of ninety cents. He wore a slouched 
hat, a “hickory” checked shirt, a cotton 
vest, tweed trowsers and cow-hide shoes, and 
carried on his arm a home-made jeans coat. 
Like the great majority of young men going 
out to seek a fortune, he had dreamed of the 
great West, where he would be able to get 
employment by which he might replenish his 
finances and buy “store clothes.” 

His mind was wandering now from the place 
where he had slept the night before, to the 
place he might sleep when night should over- 
take him. 

The sun had not yet reached the zenith, 
and it was one of those beautiful June morn- 
ings when fields are green, meadows in full 


A HOMAJ^TIC HISTORY. 


39 


bloom, when the binls, nature’s musicians, 
are filling the air with their joyous music. 
Theophilus, however, was not in a poetic 
mood, and was not affected by the surround- 
ing scenery ; he was unconscious of every- 
thing except the feeling of deep injury to 
himself which pierced his soul, and made him 
feel only as those can who realize that they 
are the subjects of partial and unjust treat- 
ment where they have a right to expect justice 
and sympathy. 

He came near the schoolhouse and sat on a 
log in the midst of the playground. There is 
no place that seems so quiet and lonely as a 
country schoolhouse when school is not in ses- 
sion, and especially so to one whose happi- 
est days have been spent there. He sat for 
a long time in a contemplative mood, thinking 
of Billy Hands, Joe Burton, Dick Spooner 
and others with whom he had had so much 
fun ; but somehow a certain pair of black eyes 
and the beautiful form of one of the mer- 
ry-hearted girl schoolmates was constantly 
monopolizing his thoughta. He could not 
help wondering now whether she would not be 
sorry when she heard that he was gone. 

It was toward noon when Theophilus arose 
from the log and had fully determined what 
course he would pursue. He threw his coat 
upon his arm and took the westward course he 
had started upon. The scar on his cheek, left 
by the last blow of the switch, was visible, 
but it was not so deep as the wound upon his 
feelings, for while he was not vain as to looks, 
he was keenly sensitive as to treatment. He 
walked for some time with his gaze downcast 
upon the dusty road before him without tak- 


40 


THEOPUILUS WALLOP. 


ing note of the distance he had traveled. 
After walking two miles, upon lifting his e^^es 
he saw the top of a barn and a farmhouse 
which he very well knew was the home of 
’Squire Clayborn, as he was called by the 
neighbors. 

The house stood some distance from the 
road, and for a moment Theophilus wished 
that he had gone by a different way, for he 
did not wish anyone to see the scar on his 
face. Besides he was both timid and exceed- 
ingly bashful in the presence of ladies, and 
the well-known hospitality of ’Squire Clay- 
born was such that he knew that if he should 
be seen it would be difficult to pass the house 
without stopping to dinner. Besides, there 
was Joe, who would want to know where he 
was going, what was the matter with his face, 
and a great many things that Theophilus did 
not want to tell, and he concluded that he 
would hurry along, and, if possible, avoid 
being seen. As he came opposite the house, 
’Squire Clayborn and his son came from the 
field, and were opening the barn gate just as 
he reached that point. 

“Good morning, Theophilus,” said ’Squire 
Clayborn. 

“ Howd’ ye do?” said Theophilus. 

“How’s all the folks at your house?” in- 
quired the ’Squire. 

“ Tolerably well,” said Theophilus. 

“Joe,” said his father, “you feed the horses 
and Theophilus and I will go to the house and 
see how near dinner is ready.” 

“Please excuse me,” said Theophilus, “I 
am not hungry, and—” 

“I never excuse one of my neighbors from 


A mM ANTIC HISTORY. 


41 


dining with me. I never take any excuses, 
you don’t pass my house at this time of day 
without resting up for dinner ; we haven’t any- 
thing extra to eat, hut you must help us go 
through the motions the same as if you were 
at home.” 

And so, before Theophilus could even get to 
speak to Joe, ’Squire Clayhorn was conduct- 
ing him without further resistance to the 
house. 

Just then the dinner-bell rang out and Tbe- 
ophilus caught a glimpse of the form of Kel- 
lie. He never eould tell why, but he was at 
once seized with what is well known in the 
rural districts as “Buck ague” — a kind of 
spasmodic quivering of the limbs, common 
among 3^oung hunters who are in sight of 
more game than they can hope to capture. 
Kellie had also seen him, and she darted into 
the “best room,” and like all good countiy 
girls had taken up the broom, swept the 
room, which was already as neat as need be, 
rearranged the chairs, and was brushing her 
pretty golden hair, — that with a perversitj^ of 
its own wanted to arrange itself in bewitch- 
ing little rings about her forehead in a manner 
that would l)reak the hearts of the girls of 
the present da}^ with envy, — back behind her 
ears in the prim style thought “proper” by 
the mothers and aunts of that time. Just 
then her father entered the room with The- 
ophilus close behind him. 

It is but stating the truth to say that from 
the time our hero had left the road until he 
reached the house, he had taken a greater 
interest in his personal appearanee than ever 
before in his life. Somehow, it seemed to 
him that his pantaloons were shorter than 


42 


TUEOPHIL US WALLOP. 


usual ; that the brim of his dusty hat per- 
sisted in flopping down all around. He noticed 
that three of the five buttons that were 
formerly on his vest were gone entirely. He 
placed his thumbs in each pocket, and suc- 
ceeded in pressing his trousers so far down as 
to appear more as if they were on good terms 
with the tops of his shoes ; but in so doing 
he created a very large space between the 
waistband and his vest, and he Avas in the 
act of compromising the distance when he 
entered the door. His heart was already 
thumping like a young steam engine, when 
to add to his embarrassment N’ellie had com- 
menced to sing, in a voice which it seemed 
to him could not be inferior to that of the 
famous ‘‘Sweedish ^Nightingale,” that popu- 
lar old negro melody, “Way doAvn upon the 
Swanee River,” to which the excited beating of 
his heart seemed to keep time, and every word 
of which he could almost feel co ursine throus'li 
his veins. So absorbed was he, that the door- 
step was higher than he anticipated ; his foot 
caught and he fell at full leno^th almost at her 
feet. He gathered himself up again in an in- 
stant, however, and though very red in the face 
and quivering throughout his whole frame, 
stammered out, “Good eA^ening,” to which the 
young lady responded, “ I am glad to see you, 
Theophilus, please be seated.” This invita- 
tion, given Avith the native politeness which AA^as 
characteristic of Nellie Cl ay born, AA^as gladly 
accepted, for he felt that he must either take 
a seat or fall again, as he felt too Aveak to trust 
himself upon his feet. ’Squire Olayborn, no- 
ticing his embarrassment, left the room to 
wash his hands and to prepare for dinner, but 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


43 


one might have noticed a broad, benevolent 
smile upon his face. Nellie, also seeing his em- 
barrassment, with woman’s tact said : “ Please 
excuse me, Theophilus, till I put the dinner 
on the table,” and with a kind, reassuring 
smile, intended to place him somewhat at his 
ease, but which really increased the velocity of 
his heart-beats to 120 per minute, she left him 
to his own reflections. His awkwardness be- 
came more and more apparent. His first 
thought was a wish that he had never been 
born. He looked at his big hands, like two 
sides of bacon, they seemed to him. His feet, 
too, seemed to have growm wonderfully since 
he looked at them last, and he felt that he was 
the homeliest mortal in human shape. The 
worst was not over, for he would soon be called 
to dinner. He had no appetite for food even 
of the most tempting kind, but he must, in the 
language of the ’Squire, “go through the mo- 
tion.” He was mentally planning to act as 
naturally and unconcernedly as possible, and 
the consoling thought occurred to him that at 
least during the meal his short pantaloons 
could not be noticed, as his long legs would be 
hid under the table. Joe now made his ap- 
pearance, and Theophilus felt somewhat re- 
lieved from his embarrassment. The meeting 
was that of two country bo3^s who had fished 
and hunted together almost since their infancy. 
Seeing the scar on Theophilus’s cheek, Joe very 
naturally asked what was the cause of it. The 
reply was rather evasive, conveying the im- 
pression that it was only the result of a “ little 
trouble he had had with a fellow.” 

“Oh, you and Jerry Halter have had a 
scratch,” said Joe, laughing. 


44 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


“Now I am not going to tell you anything 
more about it/’ said Theophilus. 

Just then Nellie appeared at the door and 
said, “ Theophilus, you and Joe come out to 
dinner.” 

Theophilus received a warm welcome from 
Nellie’s aunt. Miss Clayhorn. She kindly in- 
quired about his health and that of his mother, 
to which he responded in the most respectful 
manner. 

Nellie waited on the table with perfect ease 
and grace, and Theophilus, more than once 
during the meal, congratulated himself upon 
the chastisement he had given his brother in 
her behalf. 

The trying ordeal, that of “going through 
the motion ” of dinner, was almost over. It 
had come the time for pie, without which no 
country meal can be complete. But alas ! 
Some people are born to be unfortunate, and 
surely Theophilus was one of these. In help- 
ing himself to a piece of this dainty, from a 
plate held by the plump little hand of Nellie, 
by an awkward movement he turned over his 
cup of coffee. The hot liquid was spilled on 
his knees, and caused him to quickly jump up 
and endeavor to hold his pantaloons away 
from the flesh. This was irresistibly comical 
to Joe, who had a keen sense of the ridiculous. 
He laughed outright, for which he was repri- 
manded by his aunt, who hurriedly mopped up 
the coffee grounds around the plate where The- 
ophilus had been eating. It required quite an 
effort to get him back to the table, but as he 
could hide more of his clothing under the ta- 
ble than he could by standing, he took his seat 
again ; but you may be sure that his appetite 


A J^OMAy^TIC IIISTOHr. 


45 


had not been ..i: .,]] increased by the accident. 
When anything was ],inj ],e gay 

“I won’t choose any.” He occasion- 

ally look in the direction of Nellie, Avno 
blushed several times on his account, for well 
she knew that her mischievous brother would 
tease her about the matter after Theophilus 
was gone. 

When dinner was over, Joe and his father 
went to the l)arn, leaving Theophilus in the 
room where he had met Nellie. He actually 
despised himself for his awkwardness and felt 
it his duty to apologize for his behavior if an 
opportunity offered. He looked in the mir- 
ror to see if he really was as repulsive in ap- 
pearance as he felt himself to be. While look- 
ing in the glass he saw the form of Nellie coming 
through the door. He turned quickly around 
and said: “I — I — I beg your pardon for my 
awkwardness at the table.” “ Oh, nevermind 
that, there was no harm done.” She evidently 
wished to lead his mind away from the subject 
of his awkwardness. A long embarrassing si- 
lence followed, for Theophilus was entirely un- 
used to being alone with a young lady. He 
knew he ought to say something, but what to 
say was the perplexing question. 

Ha wanted to tell her that somehow she was 
very interesting to him, but words seemed 
powerless to express his thoughts. He half 
wished for her sake that he had not made up 
his mind to go away, but what could a girl so 
beautiful as she who now stood before him care 
for a big, ugly, awkward boy like him? At 
length he mustered up courage and said, “I 
w-want to ask a favor of you ; will you grant 
it?” 


46 


TBEOPmLtTS WALLOP. 


“ Certaiiil}", if it is in my said sh^. 

“ I am going westr^iH you answer a let- 
ter, if I write-ydu, without telling any one 
whei'e^I am ? ” said he, seriously. 

“ Of course I will, but tell me why you are 
going away; we will all miss you so much,” 
she said in real astonishment. 

“Will you miss me?” said Theophilus, 
eagerly. 

“ Why, we have always been good friends, 
haven’t we?” said she. 

“Yes, we have been schoolmates, but can’t 
you think enough of me to be — only — I — I 
mean my best friend ? ” 

This last remark was made with a serious 
look and epibarrassed candor, at the same time 
extending his big brown hand, into which Nel- 
lie placed hers so small and white as to form a 
striking contrast. 

With flushed cheek she replied, “I do not 
understand you ; why do you ask me to be 
your best friend when you say you are going 
away, and I may never see you again ? ” 

With a puzzled look into her sweet face, ac- 
companied with an unutterable tenderness that 
she remembered ever afterwards, he only said, 
‘ ‘ Will you let me have your picture to take 
with me ? ” 

“ Yes, if that will be any comfoii; to you,” 
said the girl, taking a picture from a bureau 
drawer, and handing it to him. “ But tell me 
why you are leaving your home and going 
among strangers ? ” 

“1 can’t tell you now, but you will perhaps 
know after I am gone,” and with a gentle pres- 
ure of her hand he said “ Goodbj^e ! ” and 
walked hurriedly away toward the west. 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 47 

For the first three or four hours he passed 
over hills and through valleys familiar to him, 
hut as the sun went down he passed beyond 
his knowledge of the country. He stopped at 
night with a farmer, who kindly gave him sup- 
per, lodging, and breakfast without charge. 
Day after day he traveled almost without cost, 
for it was before the day of “tramps,” and 
when a man as young as he was regarded as 
an honest man and not a thief. Besides, his 
honest face and gentlemanly deportment con- 
vinced those with whom he came in contact 
that he was no vagabond or highwayman. 

Fortunately for him it was the season of the 
year when farm laborers were in demand, and 
several times he could have gotten employ- 
ment if he had stopped so near home ; but he 
was going west and desired to get as far as he 
could with the little money he had. Finally 
on the Monday after his departure he sought 
employment with a farmer, which he readily 
obtained, as a harvest hand. 

He worked six days and received six dollars 
for his labor, but during the time of his ab- 
sence he had not unburdened his mind with 
resrard to the matters at home. After the 
day’s labor was done, and he had retired at 
night, he would dream , that Samuel would 
creep into his room under the door, carrying 
vipers which would shoot forth their forked 
tongues at him and then disappear through the 
window. Again he would dream of the switch 
over the door ; the same old grievances of 
Samuel would be told again, and then he 
would see his father with uplifted switch in 
hand and his angry face as he let it fall heavily 
upon his shoulders. He would start quickly. 


48 


TIIEOPIIIL US WALL OP. 


rise from liis pillow, awake and be relieved 
when he realized that it was only a dream. 
Sometimes in his sleep he would hear his 
mother calling him, and see her pale, sad face, 
as she went to and fro, looking for her boy. 
Again, as the morning hours drew near, and 
the more peaceful slumber overtook him, he 
would dream of resting under the gaze of two 
dark and beautiful eyes, and of seeing the 
sweet face of Nellie Clayborn. Sometimes he 
could hear her voice singing the “ Swanee 
River ; ” asrain sometimes she was fathering 
flowers, but always followed by two figures, 
one resembling his brother Samuel, the other 
unknown. These dreams would repeat them- 
selves each night, until weary of them, he de- 
termined to move farther Avest. Consequently 
he moved again to get beyond his OAvn thoughts 
and dreams, where Ave must leave him for the 
present. 

CHAPTER VII. 

After the sudden departure of Theophilus 
from his home there Avas a deep shadoAV of 
sadness in the household. For some time the 
father walked backward and forAvard across 
the room, his hands folded in a contemplative 
mood. His anger was fast disappearing, and 
it could be readily seen that he Avas not exactly 
satisfied Avith the turn affairs had taken . 

He hurriedly revieAved the past, and the 
very recent words of liis youngest son, that he 
had never disobeyed him, and that he had 
been partial in his treatment and had ahvays 
taken the statement of his other son in prefer- 
ence to his, and had unjustly punished him 


A BOMANTIC IIISTOBY, 


49 


time and again ; all this came slowly back to 
his mind, and he experienced a feeling very 
much akin to that of regret. 

The mother sat with tearful eyes gazing 
through the open door, through which her boy 
had gone out into the great world, too much 
s*urprised and shocked to speak. Not a sound 
was uttered except an occasional groan from 
Samuel, who thought himself the only abused 
person and the only one deserving of sympa- 
thy ; at least he would have liked to convey 
that impression to the minds of others. 

Days and weeks went by, and the shade of 
sorrow, growing deeper with time, continued 
to hover about the family. 

Mr. Clayborn and his son J oe had no knowl- 
edge that Theophilus was finally leaving his 
home when they last saw him. Nellie was the 
only person to whom he had told his purpose. 
His absence was soon noticed, however, and 
much speculation was indulged in by those of 
his acquaintance. There was a feeling of re- 
gret in the hearts of all, with two exceptions. 

Jerry Halter was a big, burly fellow by this 
time, and since his trouble with Theophilus at 
school, he had entertained anything but kindly 
feelings for him. He was now a full-grown 
man, and on account of the fact that Nellie 
Clayborn always had a good word for Theoph- 
ilus, he was ready to go to any extent to do 
him an injury. And by the way, he seemed 
to be about the only companion Samuel had 
among all his acquaintances. These two had 
formed as close a friendship as was possible 
for two such natures ; a friendship for each 
other only, forming a small “independent con- 


60 


THEOPHILUS WALLOP, 


federacy” against the rest of the community in 
which they lived. 

Halter was overhearing, insolent, and vindic- 
tive, which rendered him unpopular, conse- 
quently he pushed himself along through the 
world by blulf and bluster. He was not with- 
out vanity, and imagined all the girls in the 
neighborhood would feel greatly flattered to 
have him for a “ beau.” On two occasions 
he accompanied Joe Cl ay born to his father’s 
house, and on one of these he managed to get 
a few words in private with Miss Nellie. She 
was always social and kind to him as to oth- 
ers, and he took it for granted that she was 
“ dead in love” with him. He invited her to 
take a walk, and as they strolled together be- 
neath the foliage of the green trees, he was 
feeling that to be the only son-in-law of ’Squire 
Clayborn and, to come some day in possession 
of his farm and other property, wouldn’t be a 
bad thing for him. 

Of course he supposed the young girl’s 
heart was free, and if not his already, the 
mere mention of the matter would settle his 
happiness for life. There was a lustre and 
brightness about Nellie’s eyes, a dimple on 
her cheek, and a sweetness in her look, which 
made the flowers about their pathway fade into 
insignificance when the fellow undertook to 
compare them. He would doubtless have pro- 
posed to her then and there, but the recent 
departure of Theophilus \Yallop was such a 
theme for gossip in the neighborhood, that very 
naturally a part of his thoughts were devoted 
to him at that time. And, too, it would be 
better, perhaps, to see that Theophilus was en- 


A J^OjVAJVTIC HiSTOIiY. 


61 


tirely out of the way before making so impor- 
tant a venture. 

“ You’ve heard al)out Thof Wallop knock- 
ing down his old father and leaving home, I 
guess?” said he. 

“Yo, I have not, ” said she, as she let fall a 
rose from her hand, looking him steadily in 
the face. 

“Well, I guess it is so, and if he is ever 
caught he will be regulated. 

This meant that he would be taken out by a 
crowd and beaten with switches. 

In a moment Nellie thought of the mark on 
the cheek of Theophilus the day he left home. 
She felt a kind of fear creep over her which 
was undefinable, but concealing this emotion, 
she asked : 

“ How did the trouble begin, and who Tvas 
present to see it ? ” 

‘ ‘ It was a very brutal blow with a piece of 
timber, and no one saw it but his brother 
Samuel,” said Halter with a vehemence which 
indicated some feeling. 

“ Samuel told you all about it, I suppose?” 

“Yes, he saw it all.” 

“ Was Theophilus hurt in any way?” 

“Oh, no; he just struck his father with a 
piece of timber and left at once.” 

Nellie knew the character of Samuel and 
did not place much confidence in his state- 
ments ; but this story was in a manner corrob- 
orated by the fact of the mysterious leaving of 
3^oung Wallop. Still the scar on his cheek to 
her mind contradicted the details just given. 
She was sorry that such charges had been 
made, for her father and Joe had always had a 
good opinion of Theophilus, and she could not 


THEOPIIIL ns WALLOP. 


help wishing, somehow, that they might retain 
it. 

Halter noticed that Nellie had ceased her 
merry laughter, and attri])uted her seriousness 
to her interest in Anthony and Mrs. Wallop 
rather than their son. He wanted to dismiss 
the subject and return to the line of thought 
he was in when it was first mentioned, and 
said : 

“The old man will soon be well again, 
and it is a ffood thing that the neighborhood 
has got rid of that cowardly scamp.” 

Nellie made no response, but her first im- 
pulse was to suggest to Halter that he had 
changed his mind since he hollowed “ School 
butter” at the school some years before. Sev- 
eral times Halter was on the verge of telling 
her how near she seemed to him at that mo- 
ment, but her appearance showed him too 
plainly that it was a hazardous adventure, and 
at her suggestion they retraced their steps to 
the house, where she adroitly turned her escort 
over to Joe, wdiile she ostensibly went to help 
her good old aunt. 

Jerry did not remain long that evening, for 
Joe was not so good company as his sister. 
Though her treatment of him was kind and 
civil, yet he felt that there was something 
wanting ; it was evident that his society was 
not altogether pleasant to her. But he had at 
least made a beginning, and he hoped for bet- 
ter success in the future. He therefore deter- 
mined to call again when she tvas in a happier 
mood. 

“ Nellie, what is the matter with you this 
evening? You seem to be studying about 


A I^OMAliTIC mSTOBY. 


63 


sometliing,” said her Aunt Rose, who had no- 
ticed that she appeared absent-minded. 

“ I was just thinking of Mr. A\hdlop and 
his family, and what a queer old gentleman he 
is.” 

“Yes,” said her aunt, “I have lived near 
them a good while, and I must say he has puz- 
zled me considerably, he is so cold and re- 
served in his manner ; but Mrs. Mhdlop is such 
a good, kind soul, and makes one feel at home 
so much while in her presence, that I would 
visit her more than I do, but when Mr. Wallop 
comes into the house, I feel as if a cold wave 
has struck me, and I want to come away ; and 
she marked the place where she had l)een read- 
ing in the Bible and laid the book on the 
stand. 

“ Have 3mu heard that they have had some 
trouble recently in the family?” said Nellie. 

“ No, I have not,” was the answer. 

“You know the day that Theophilus stopped 
with us for dinner ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ M^ell, he was leaving his home for good 
that day,” said Nellie. 

“ And did you know that all this time with- 
out telling me? ” 

“ I did not know that there had been any 
trouble in the family.” 

“ AYell, I believe I do remember seeing a 
scar on his cheek,” said her aunt, while she let 
her motherly eyes rest on her niece. 

“I noticed that,” said Nellie, “but of 
course I did not inquire the ca^use.” 

“And did he not tell you he was going 
away, nor where he was going?” 

“Yes,” said Nellie, while her cheeks turned 
red, “ he said he was going west.” 


54 


TllEOPlllL VS WALL OP. 


“ To stay?” 

“ I inferred so,” she answered. 

“ Well, it always seemed that there was a 
warm and a cold side to their home, for Sam- 
uel and his father are so much alike, while 
•Theophilus seems to have inherited his moth- 
er’s good qualities.” 

“ I never could get acquainted with Samuel 
at school,” said Nellie, “ though I really didn’t 
care to try, for he wasn’t at all attractive to 
me.” 

“ Well, I do not know, of course, but it has 
been rumored that Mr. Wallop was very severe 
on his youngest son, and I would not be sur- 
prised if that was the cause of his leaving.” 

“Theophilus was much the better boy at 
school,” said Nellie, reflectively. 

“ Jerry was talking to you about the mat- 
ter, I suppose,” said her aunt, manifesting 
some interest in the matter. 

“ Yes, he does not seem to like Theophilus 
very well, and tells a rather hard story on 
him,” was the reply. 

“ How does he say the trouble originated?” 

“ He says that Theophilus struck his father 
with a piece of timber, so Samuel had told 
him.” 

“ AYell, that may be, l)ut I would rather 
have further proof than the statement of either 
Samuel or Jerry,” was her aunt’s reply. 

“ Do you think they are untruthful? ” 

“ I have always understood that Jerry was 
not friendly to Theophilus. I knew his father 
before him, and he was not the most reliable 
person, and as to Samuel, your fiither does 
not place any confidence in his statements.” 

“Mr. Halter is a respectable person, isn’t 
he, auntie?” 


A BOMANTIC HISTOBT. 


55 


“ Yes, I believe lie is tolerated in good so- 
ciety, but I hope he will never be anything 
nearer to me than an acquaintance,” said 
Aunt Rose, with some little feeling, and Nellie 
laughed as she thought of the possibilities 
which she guessed had flitted through her 
aunt’s mind. 

. “ I don’t think you should lose any sleep 

over the prospect of his ever becoqiing nearer 
to you, unless some distant relative of ours 
should marry the Widow McSquint, his god- 
mother,” said Nellie, her face radiant wdth 
smiles. 

“ That is certainly as remote a thing as you 
could think of, and I hope it expresses your 
feelings,” said her aunt, somewhat relieved. 

“ It most assuredly does, but I cannot con- 
ceive how you could be thinking of him in that 
way.” 

“I am a pretty good judge of people, and 
I feel certain that he is much attached to you, 
and when your good angel mother died, I 
promised her that I w^ould take her place and 
watch over you with a tender care ; and of 
course it is my duty to give you such advice 
as your mother would if she were here.” 

“ I thank you. Aunt Rose, but I know you 
will believe me when I tell you that if he en- 
tertains any feeling for me beyond a casual ac- 
quaintance it is not my fault, for I have only 
treated him civilly and respectfully on account 
of the training given me by you and my father, 
to be respectful and kind to every one.” 

“I do not doubt your word, but my re- 
sponsibility is such that I could not help 
admonishing you with regard to a fact that 
has doubtless escaped your notice. And now 


56 


THEOPIIIL US WALL OP. 


you know my feelings, nnd you have tli(? bene- 
fit of my suggestions in the matter.” 

“I do not quite understand you ; do you 
mean that I should cut his acquaintance en- 
tirely ? ” 

“ No, I do not mean that, but give him to 
understand that you are social with him merely 
as you are to all your acquaintances.” 

“All right, auntie, I will follow your ad- 
vice with pleasure,” and so saying, she sealed 
the bargain as usual with a kiss. 

It is true that Nellie’s mother had died, and 
on her death-bed had secured the promise of 
her sister-in-law. Rose Clayborn, that she 
would make her home with her brother fJona- 
than and do a mother’s part by her darling 
children, especially by Nellie. She had ful- 
filled this promise faithfully to the present 
hour as a good Christian woman, and now 
that her charge was blooming into woman- 
hood, and possessed rare beauty and intelli- 
gence, she was more than ever interested in 
her welfare. She herself had never married 
because in her girlhood she had loved with all 
her ardent nature a young man who died 
two weeks before the marriage ceremony 
would have bound her to him, not only in this 
world but in the world beyond. She belonged 
to that class of persons who thought that when 
pure love, such as should make man and wife 
one in the sight of God had been bestowed on 
another, and that other in the grave, that her 
duty both to the dead and the living required 
tliat she should pass her life in a kind of wid- 
owhood. It was, therefore, in accord with her 
religious feelings that she should take charge 
of, and assist in rearing and educating, her 


A liOMAJSTTIC IIISTOIiT. 


57 


brother’s two children. So it was that while 
Joe and Xellie had no real inolher, their good 
old aunt had filled that office so well, and had 
treated them with such tender care, that they 
could not strictly be called motherless. 

Their home had been one of continued 
brightness, where love and kindness ruled. 
Jonathan Clayborn and his sister had adopted 
as the rule of home government the motto 

“ Remember it is better far 
To rule by love than fear.” 

Nellie’s life up to this time had been one 
continued pleasant dream, with every comfort 
that a good parent and a lovely home could 
furnish. She had passed the time like the 
happy bird 

“ That hops from branch to branch of the ever green 
trees, 

Singing sweetly its merry music, on the gentle sum- 
mer breeze.” 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Reuben and Surrilda Pepper had enjoyed 
each other’s companionship for a number of 
years, and two small Peppers, of either sex, 
were the result of their union. Reuben was 
an easy-going individual who wore away most 
of his time in whittling sticks and discussing 
abstract questions of philosophy. He was 
what might be called a contented man, except 
when his wife, by the use of a glib tongue, in- 
duced him to do a little manual labor. Sur- 
rilda was a fretting little soul possessed of 
more energy than beauty. She was a sister 
of Charity McSquint, who lived in the neigh- 
borhood of Squire Clayborn, and who had per- 
formed the office of godmother to Jerry Hal- 


58 


TTIEOPIIIL US WALLOP . 


ter since that hopeful youth was four years 
old. Mrs. Pepper and Mrs. McSquint, being 
the only heirs of their deceased father, inher- 
ited the estate, and brought with them from 
their former home in North Carolina each 
about two thousand dollars in cash. 

Mrs. Pepper and her devoted husband had 
settled more than a dozen miles west of Mrs. 
McSquint. They did not live so far apart but 
that they could occasionally visit. 

Surrilda Pepper had a great love for wealth, 
and the sight of gold made her little eyes twin- 
kle like the stars of evening. Of her earthly 
possessions some six hundred dollars were in 
cash, which she kept so snugly hid away that 
even Reuben knew not of its whereabouts. 

It was mostly in gold, and she manifested a 
great fondness for exhibiting it to a very few, 
among whom was her sister CHiarity. 

It Avas on Saturday afternoon in June, when 
Jerry Halter was induced to accompany Mrs. 
McSquint over to see her sister. They must 
stay all night and return the next afternoon. 
It was a pleasant visit for the lYidow McSquint, 
Avhose husband, Hiram, had died but a few 
years before, leaving her childless and forlorn. 
She was consequently very fond of children. 
On her arrival she kissed and cried over the 
little Peppers in a manner eminently satisfac- 
tory to Surrilda, who had hurriedly prepared 
them for the ordeal by wiping their noses with 
her apron. 

The two sisters wept upon each other’s necks 
the usual time allotted for such matters, when 
the family greeting was wound up by Mrs. 
McSquint clasping Reuben to her bosom in a 
lingering embrace till Jerry led her to a chair 


noMANTIC mSTOBY. 


m 


near by. It was the first occurrence of that 
kind that Keuben had ever experienced in 
his life, and he wondered not that Hiram 
McSquint had passed peacefully away to rest. 

Charity had not lost the use of her tongue 
any more than her sister, and it was late that 
night when they retired to rest. She told 
Surrilda all about the signs, and the best time 
to plant garden “ truck.” She knew the best 
thing for a burn, a cut, or stone-bruise, a lux- 
ury enjoyed by little Bob Pepper to his heart’s 
content. She knew the best remedies for 
whooping-cough, could cure hives and mumps 
in no time, and almost bring the measles out 
on a poplar log. She had been present at the 
birth of most of the children of the surround- 
ing country, and it was through her individual 
skill that Hiram’s life had been preserved long 
after the foreordained time for his departure 
had arrived. 

Surrilda also enlightened her sister as to her 
neighbor’s geese, cattle, horses, and children. 
All the peculiar qualities of her neighbors were 
gone over in detail, finally winding up with the 
hard time she had endured in getting Reuben 
interested in laying up treasures on earth. Mr. 
Pepper and Jerry, in the meantime, were seated 
out of doors snuffing the evening breeze and 
discussing the movements of the planets. The 
moon had been dissected by the head of the 
family, its size, shape, habits, and conduct crit- 
icised in Mr. Pepper’s usual manner. He next 
plunged into nature’s storehouse, invoiced the 
stock, and scattered causes and effects around 
promiscuously till Jerry fell into a sound sleep. 
This last incident terminated the evening’s en- 
tertainment. 


60 


THEOPHILUS WALLOP. 


It was late in the afternoon of the next day, 
when Mrs. Pepper astonished her guests by 
exhibiting to them lier wealth of gold which 
she had snugly tied up in her “ ridicule,” as 
she called it, which was a bag with strings at- 
tached, sufficiently long to go over the shoul- 
ders, and the mouth of which was closed by 
a “ puckering string.” It was a pleasant sight 
to Jerry who had never seen so much money 
before in all his life, and Mrs. McSquint put 
on one of her sweetest smiles as she gazed at 
the glittering coin. Keuben stood at a respect- 
ful distance, for he well knew by experience 
that it was not to be divided. Surrilda would 
not hide her money about the house for fear of 
fire or burglars. She sometimes kept it in a 
secluded place under the ground, but never al- 
lowed it to remain long in the same spot. 
After her guests had gazed on her money to 
their heart’s content, she put the reticule under 
her apron, departed from the house, and re- 
turned after an absence of ten or fifteen min- 
utes. It was time for Charity to go home, and 
by the time her sister had returned from re- 
hiding her treasure, Mr. Pepper and Jerry had 
the horses ready, and the two sisters parted, 
after several times telling each other to ‘ ‘ Be 
sure and come soon and often.” 

The visit of Mrs McSquint to her sister oc- 
curred a few days preceding the one on which 
Theophilus Wallop left his home. It was with 
Mr. Pepper that he spent his first night after 
leaving the Clayborns. He arrived late in the 
evening, tired and hungry from his long walk. 
Mrs. Pepper was somewhat averse to enter- 
taining strangers, but as Theophilus lived in 
the Clayborn neighborhood, as he said, and told 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


61 


her some things her sister had detailed, she 
concluded to let him stay all night. She pre- 
pared a cold supper for him, of which he par- 
took with considerable relish. 

Reuben was always delighted to have com- 
pany, and at once set about entertaining his 
new guest by a minute description of the inte- 
rior of the earth. He took no stock in the 
“new-fangled idea” that the earth revolved 
once a day and landed his house in its proper 
place every morning. It was too flat to flop 
over like a tal)le every twenty-four hours witli- 
out smashing up things generally. He believed 
in the north and south poles of the earth, but 
thought there were east and west poles as 
well, on which the whole fabric rested, and 
that all these poles, and perhaps more, rested 
on eternity. And as for the motion of the 
earth around the sun once a year, why, he had 
the Scriptures to prove the falsity of that sort 
of nonsense. For why did Joshua command 
the sun to stand still, if it didn’t move? With 
this final argument he would cast his eyes 
toward the ceiling, and branch off into a de- 
scription of the groove through which the sun 
passed in making its circle around the earth. 

Theophilus, after finishing his meal, took a 
seat against the building and remained a silent 
and curious listener until overcome by his 
weariness, and the monotony of the scientific 
lecture of Reuben, and, like Jerry, he fell 
asleep. He was not, as maybe imagined, in 
a talkative mood, and his peculiar reticence 
created a little uneasiness on the part of Mrs. 
Pepper, who thought he did not exactly look 
right out of his eyes. He was shown into an 
adjoining foom where he retired for the night. 
Mrs. Pepper did not go to sleep that night as 


62 


THE 0 PHIL US WALL OP. 


early as usual, and it was long after Eeuben 
was making the air musical with his heavy 
snoring, starting with a gurgle and winding 
up with an abrupt explosion from his over- 
worked mouth, that the little woman dropped 
into the arms of Morpheus. She had a fright- 
ful dream. She saw, in her slumber, a robber 
with a great knife chasing Eeuben through the 
fields, and then a great number of men and of- 
ficers in hot pursuit of the thief where he was 
finally caught ])ehind her ash-hopper. She 
awoke in great fright and realized it was but a 
dream, but it had made her nervous. Again 
she tossed from side to side, and once made an 
effort to arouse her husband, but in vain. 

Now wide awake, she heard a rustling noise 
in the stranger’s room, like some one moving 
about, but it soon ceased and the neiwous little 
woman dropped into an easy sleep which lasted 
till late in the morning. She finally awoke, as 
also did Eeuben, and both got up for the day. 
When the morning’s meal was ready, she di- 
rected her husband to arouse the stranger, not 
thinking that he had been gone more than two 
hours. When the fact was made known to her 
by Eeuben that the stranger had left, she felt 
much relieved, for there was something in his 
manner which had caused her unrest, and she 
mentally resolved hereafter not to entertain 
such people. 

She was very busy that morning, for Eeuben 
was getting to work late ; the children were to • 
dress ; besides, it was ironing day, and she had 
to go a half mile to borrow an iron from a 
neighbor. With all this work and dinner to 
get, it was not till in the afternoon, when she 
sat down to put an additional patch .on little 
Bob’s trousers, that her dream of the previous 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


63 


night came back to her and caused her to shud- 
der. She thought al)out lier hidden treasure 
and the sudden departure of the stranger, and 
the more she meditated the more restless she 
became, till at last she threw the garment aside 
and hurried down to the spring house, in the 
corner of which, beneath two large stones, she 
had last placed the money. Her eye instantly 
caught the fact that the top stone had been 
somewhat misplaced ; a great fear seized her, 
but she quickly removed it entirely, only to 
learn definitely that the reticule and money 
were gone. Poor woman ! She indulged in 
an agonizing shriek, turned deathly pale, trem- 
bled from head to foot, and had she not been a 
woman of more than ordinary nerve, would 
have fainted. A few feet away she plainly 
saw in the soft mud a well-defined shoe-print, 
apparently that of a man of more than ordinary 
size. The mysterious conduct of the stranger, 
as well as her dream, was solved. But what 
was to be done? It was before the system of 
telegraphing and detectives could be called 
into requisition for the capture of thieves, and 
escape for them was easy. 

Surrilda hurried with all possible speed to 
the field where Reuben was supposed to be at 
Avork, but instead of that he was hunkered up 
against a mulberry tree where he was trying to 
steal a nap in spite of the efforts to prevent 
him made by a meddlesome ffy which persisted 
in tiokling his nose. “Reuben, R-e-u-ben ! 
We are ruined!” she screamed, as she fell 
down in the shade near him. 

“What’s the matter, Surrilda, what hurts 
you?” said he, thinking she was suffering an 
attack of fcramp cholic. 

“ Oh ! That villain ! That villain Wallop 


64 


THE O PHIL US WALL OP. 


has stole my money ! ” she shrieked, as she 
stood erect with her hands clasped in front. 

“A great misfortune, indeed, if true,” said 
Ecuben, as he slowly and with the gi-eatest 
composure made an effort to rise. 

“ Don’t I know he got it? My dream ! My 
dream! Why didn’t I think of it sooner? 
Oh, I heard him get up in the night,” she 
sol)bed afresh, and started for the house in 
great haste. 

“Are you certain the money is gone?” 
said he, calling after her. 

“ You dunce 1 ” exclaimed his wife. “ Don’t 
I know that I left the money in the spring 
house ? ” and Mr. Pepper, now fully awakened 
to the subject, started for the house in a faster 
gait than he had been known to do for years. 

They soon arrived at the locality where the 
money had been stolen and Eeuben measured 
the foot-print with great precision, when it was 
determined to arouse the neighbors, and, if 
possible, capture the thief. Little Bob was 
sent in one direction, Surrildain another, while 
Eeuben remained to watch that the track was 
not rubbed out. In an hour or so several 
neighbors were on the ground ready to render 
any possible assistance ; and three men on 
horseback took a westerly course some little 
time before sundown for the purpose of over- 
taking Theophilus Wallop and bringing him to 
justice. 

CHAPTEE IX. 

The commission of a great crime in a neigh- 
orhood, like the theft of Mrs. Pepper’s money, 
always creates great excitement, and it is soon 
known far and wide. Usually the perpetrator 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


65 


is unknown, but in this case every known fact 
and circumstance pointed directly to the alv 
sconding young Wallop. No one else had op- 
portunity to do the deed. Public o}}iiiion at 
once turned to him as the thief, and though the 
men who went west in pursuit returned the 
next day with no tidings of him, the search 
was not given up. The story of the crime 
spread with great rapidity ; new and convinc- 
ing evidence was given, consisting of the mys- 
terious disappearance of the young man, and 
some old shoes of his being found, which made 
a print about the size of that left in the mud 
at the place of the crime. 

An indictment, signed “ a true bill,” was pre- 
sented against him by the county grand jury 
for feloniously stealing and carrying away six 
hundred dollars, lawful money of the realm, 
then and there the property of Surrilda Pepper. 

Anthony Wallop heard the story of his son’s 
crime with great sorrow, while the neighbors 
manifested sincere sympathy for the afflicted 
mother. The charge that her son was a thief 
had prostrated her completely. There were 
many persons, as usual in such cases, who were 
not surprised. Some had always thought the 
young man would turn out badly, while other 
knowing ones could point to incidents in the 
young man’s childhood which had convinced 
them that some day he would find himself with- 
in the prison walls. Samuel felt very keenly 
the disgrace which had befallen the family, and 
insisted on his brother’s disinheritance at the 
earliest possible moment. 

The idea that a felon should partake of his 
father’s estate at any time was entirely too 
much to be entertained in his mind for a mo- 
ment. The father, too, was persuaded that his 


66 


THEOPHIL US WALLOP.' 


youngest son liad forfeited all claims to further 
recognition from him, and determined to make 
a will and cut Theophilus off from an}" part in 
his estate. This, in a measure at least, would 
save the family from the odium of crime. The 
will was written, signed, and sealed in the 
presence of Mrs. Mhdlop, with Samuel and 
Jerry Halter as witnesses thereto. 

Thus was the finishing touch of ignominy 
placed on the reputation of a young man who, 
a fortnight before, stood high among his ac- 
quaintances. Mr. Clayborn and Joe listened 
to the story of the crime and downfall with 
feelings of pain, but neither disputed the guilt 
of their former acquaintance. 

Nellie was sad and heartbroken, and she 
knew not Avhy. Theophilus was nothing to 
her except that she had promised to be his 
friend. Did he mean that she was to take the 
part of a criminal, when he exacted the prom- 
ise? Was he contemplating the awful crime 
when he told her that she would hear the rea- 
son of his departure after he had gone? Why 
did he desire the picture of her if he had 
started on the highway of crime? She ana- 
lyzed all the acts of his life known to her, but 
nothing threw any light or suspicion on his con- 
duct more than on other young men of his age. 
Temptation may have been too strong for the 
inexperience of youth, mining a life in an 
hour. All these thoughts and more rushed 
through her mind, but the evidence of his guilt 
was so strong and his conduct so strange, that 
there seemed no reasonable way of reaching a 
satisfactory conclusion. It was no harm to 
withhold judgment, however, until further in- 
vestigation, and she determined to wait in si- 
lence, and hoped it might not be time. 


A JlOMAIiTIC JIISTOBY. 


67 


It continued to be the theme of conversation 
and comment, and at the next regular meeting 
the itinerant minister took for his text : “ Thou 
shalt not steal.” This sermon had been fully 
advertised, and the people came from a great 
distance to hear it. Mr. and Mrs. Pepper 
came to Mrs. McSquint’s on Saturday evening 
in order to be present during its delivery. 
The services were held in a grove near the 
Clayborn schoolhouse where the congregation 
early assembled with Surrilda Pepper as the 
center of attraction. She wore her deep blue 
calico dress, the same she wore when she stood 
in the })resence of the squire and promised to 
love and obey, as her lawful and wedded hus- 
band, Keuben Pepper. A sun-bonnet and ging- 
ham apron completed her toilet. She took 
her seat near the platform. Mrs. McSquint 
and Surrilda’s smallest child occupied a seat 
near her. 

The minister, who had a long, thin, sad face, 
high standing collar, a black luster coat, and 
black, curly hair reaching down to his shoul- 
ders, opened the services by reading from the 
same little red hymn-book (which Theophilus 
had inspected on a former occasion) the old 
and himiliar hymn, the first two lines of which 
are as follows : 

“ Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, 

That saved a wretch like me.” 

This song was properly lined and sung, except 
that Mrs. McSquint, who thought it her Chris- 
tian duty to lead, pitched her voice several 
tones higher than the others, landing on a pin- 
nacle above them, making quite a discord. 
Mr. Wallop and his good lady were not present, 
but Samuel, in company with Jerry Halter, 


68 


Til EO PHIL US WALL OP, 


supplied their absence. Mr. Clayborn and 
family of course were present as quiet and re- 
spectful listeners. 

It was indeed a solemn occasion, as much 
so, perhaps, as it would have been if young 
Wallop had died and w^as being buried. Af- 
ter the usual formal ceremonies, the pious man 
again arose, and in a tomb-like voice, entered 
upon his discourse. 

“There are,” said he, “absent faces from 
this dying congregation on whom a great sor- 
row has fallen. Our dear brother Wallop, 
the father of the depraved and lawTess youth 
who has brought the blush of shame to all his 
kindred, is not with us, because of a conscious- 
ness of his own sin in refraining to give his way- 
w^ard son that training and discipline so neces- 
sary in rearing a family. Oh , my beloved friends , 
who have the care and custody of growing 
children, do not ‘spare the rod’ until it is 
everlastingly too late. There is so much de- 
pravity and innate meanness in the youth, that 
parental blows should hill thick and fast until 
every vestige of crime disappears through the 
pores of the skin.” He then took up the late 
sensation in all its horrible details, and held 
young Wallop up as a most terrible example 
for one so young. He grew red in the face 
and truly eloquent when he spoke of Mrs; 
Pepper’s great misfortune. “In a moment,” 
said he, “ the savings of years of toil and econ- 
omy were taken from her and her little ones.” 
This was too much for the sorrowing woman, 
who had already manifested her feelings by 
]')atting her foot and moving backwards and 
forwards. She burst into a flood of tears, 
which set Mrs. McSquint to crying, and the 


A BOM ANTIC HISTORY. 


small Peppers, not knowing what else to do, 
followed suit and terminated the sermon just 
before it received its finishing touches. The 
last sonof commencino; There will be no sor- 
row there,” acted like Godfrey’s cordial on the 
stricken family and the congregation was dis- 
missed. The preacher received many congrat- 
ulations' for his ability in presenting his sul)- 
ject. He had consigned, in fitting language, 
poor Theophilus to a lake of burning fire, and' 
the people dispersed to their homes. 

During the sermon, Samuel Wallop was an 
attentive listener, and scarcely took his eyes 
off the good msin’s face while it lasted. He 
had been described as a model youth; and 
highly complimented for his noble conduct in 
an effort to reform his brother, and several 
times poked Halter in the ribs, when his name 
was mentioned. Jerry was also an earliest 
listener, except to occasionally glance in the 
direction of Nellie, who failed to return his 
friendly gaze. She caught each word, and 
weighed them as 'they fell upon her ears, but 
was una])le to find in them any solution of the 
crime, more than she already knew. That after- 
noon Halter rode over from liis home to Mr. 
Clayborn’s, where he was cordially received by 
all the family, and another whom he was not 
looking for in particular. This individual was 
no less a personage than Dick Spooner, who 
had not allowed the boys and girls of the 
neighborhood to grow up to be young men 
and women without his keeping in line. Dick 
was a handsome boy of seventeen, and was mak- 
ing a desperate effort to sprout a mustache, 
which to this date was but a partial success. 
He was a clever fellow, full of fun, good-na- 


70 


TIIEOPHIL US WALL OP, 


tured, and consequently well liked by every one. 
His good qualities had made him considerable of 
a rival among the bo3^s, and Halter was evi- 
dently a little displeased to meet him on that 
day. Dick had seen Jerry at the meeting and 
heard him say that he was going over to Clay- 
born’s that afternoon, and mischievously con- 
ceived the notion that it would be a good idea 
to “cut him out.” Without a word to any 
one, he ate his dinner after services, and tak- 
ing the nearest course through the fields, pro- 
ceeded to the Clay born residence. He soon 
found an opportunity and engaged Nellie to 
take a walk with him. They were just in the 
act of starting when they saw Jerry coming 
through the gate. Nellie laid aside her hat 
until she excused herself to “ beau No. two,” 
and turned him over to the keeping of Joe. 

Jeriy, who knew nothing of her arrange- 
ment with Dick, and would not have approved 
of it if he had, in a subdued tone asked her 
“ if his company would be accejJable during the 
afternoon,” to which she modestly responded 
“that he would have to excuse her, as she 
had an engagement with Mr. Spooner, and that 
he must call some other time.” Halter changed 
color in a moment, and felt as if he had “ got- 
ten the mitten,” and somewhat sullenly said 
“ that under the circumstances he would have 
to excuse her.” There were two points in her 
iinswer that cut him to the quick. One was 
that her company was engaged to Dick, the 
other that slie had called him “ Mr. Spooner.” 

While this subdued conversation was going 
on, Dick was but a few feet away, and though 
he could not hear what they said, he saw the 
flush in Jerry’s face, and guessing the cause, 


A iio:mantic hi story. 


11 


was almost chokini^ with lauijliter at the dis- 
comnture of his rival. Jerry moved slowly 
aAvay to the porch where Joe was reading. 
He was deeply disappointed, and gave Dick a 
look anything but friendly, which was met by 
a triumphant smile. 

To add to Halter’s mortification, Dick and 
Xellie strolled leisurely down the path, away 
from the house in plain view of both Joe and 
Jerry. As they walked along Dick assumed 
a dignified attitude, placing his thumbs in the 
armholes of his vest, while his hat rested on 
his well-shaped head at an angle of forty-five 
degrees. He was full of merry fun, for well 
he knew that every step and movement of his 
caused a feeling of jealous wrath on the part 
of Jerry Halter. 

Dick’s greatest fault was his delight in play- 
ing innocent jokes and teasing persons of a 
sensitive disposition. This peculiar trait is 
born in some people, and he was possessed 
with a full share of it. When a mere lad he 
would go any distance to play “ghost” on 
persons who lived in dread of such an imagin- 
ary terror. Not only this, but he would 
sometimes go even miles to do some innocent 
trick to provoke a laugh. He woukl tie a 
stick or tin can to a dog’s tail just to see it 
run or hear it yelp. At one time there lived 
near him an old bachelor who had a peculiar 
fondness for raising chickens, but he had much 
trouble in keeping the raccoons, opossums, 
and night hawks from destroying them before 
he could get them to market. Night after 
night this old man would be disturbed from 
his rest by the pesky “ varmints.” Dick saw 
a capital place for fun here and often pla3^ed 
“ varmint” on the old man. He would go at 


72 


TIIEOPIIIL US WALL OP. 


night, snatch an old hen oft* the roost, the 
squalls of which would bring the proprietor 
barefooted, and in his night clothes, to the 
scene ; a chase would follow, until Dick would 
choke the hen to silence and hide beneath the 
growing corn. The poor old man would go 
back to bed, and not more than get to sleep 
again, when it Avould be repeated, except that 
briars and thistles would be strewn along the 
path leading from the old man’s domicile to 
his hen-roost. On these, of a dark night, he 
would step with his naked feet, and indulge in 
language unbecoming a member of the church. 

These, with other boyish freaks, constituted 
Dick’s weakness, which he could not help. 
He was a model country boy. He was not 
narrow with his affection, not caring for any 
girl in particular, but let his big heart spread 
over the surrounding country and took them 
all in a group. He was happy this afternoon, 
first because he had “ cut Jerry out,” and then 
because it was pleasant to enjoy the society of 
so charming a girl as Nellie. 

“ I am soiT}',” he said, after getting some 
distance away, “ to cheat Jerry this way.” 

“ Oh, he don’t care about me,” she said eva- 
sively. 

“Well, if he always looked as crimson in 
the face, and talked as polite, as when he left 
you, he would be real handsome, don’t you 
think?” said Dick, laughing. 

“ I did not notice him blush,” she said, look- 
ing at a face so full of merriment that she, too, 
was forced to join in it. 

“ He thought his ‘ cake was dough,’ I 
guess,” said Dick, gleefully. 

“ Oh, I did not wish to offend him, and told 
him to come some other time,” said Nellie. 


A J?0MAJVTIC HlSTOnY. 


13 


“ Watch him go,” he said, and they saw him 
going toward the road at a fall gallop. 

Jerry was smarting under the joke, and de- 
termined to leave, never to return. On reach- 
ing the gate, he attempted to open it without 
dismounting, hut his untamed animal was un- 
used to such a proceeding, and refused to go 
near enough to allow it. This further annoyed 
Halter, and he commenced to vigorously jerk 
the animal on its tender mouth by the bridle 
reins until it reared almost erect on its hind 
feet, finally breaking the girth of the saddle, 
and landing the rider on the ground. This 
frightened the hor^e and it started backward 
dragging its dismounted rider. He held on to 
the reins until it became too dangerous, when 
he let loose entirely, and the horse struck out 
at a two-forty gait across the woods pasture, 
while the owner suffered the loss of two or 
three buttons, one suspender broken, a rent in 
the knee of his trousers, and a small patch of 
cuticle from his elbow. 

Nellie was somewhat frightened, but Dick 
laughed worse than a boy at school, for it was 
joke number two on his competitor, in one 
day. Joe, who had seen the occurrence. from 
the house, caught the horse, took it back to 
Jerry, repaired the girth, assisted the rider to 
his place in the saddle, who then made his way 
back to Mrs. IMcSquint’s. She not only sewed 
on his missing Imttons and fixed the torn trou- 
sers, but put a flaxseed poultice on his elbow, 
the best remedy, she declared, ever applied to 
“ lacerated ” skin. 

“ I am afraid you are a bad boy, Dick, to 
laugh at one’s misfortune,” said Nellie, after 
Jerry was safely on his horse. 


*74 


TJIEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


“ Well, I can’t help it, I believe I would 
have laughed if he had been killed, foi* then 
he would not have been in my way when I 
wanted to see ^mu,” said he in a playful way. 

“ He did not seem to be much in your way 
this afternoon,” she said. 

“No, but I am looking out for the future,” 
he said, as he placed his index finger on his 
lip, where there was a faint resemblance to a 
light mustache. 

“ Don’t let that worry you,” she said, refer- 
ring to the tender growth on his upper lip, 
“ for it will be some years before it will be ripe 
enough to cut.” They both laughed at Dick’s 
expense, for they had been raised togetlier, 
and she was acquainted with his good nature, 
and felt free to twit him without fear of of- 
fense. They continued to talk as they moved 
about in the forest, gathering flowers, until 
they came to a fallen tree on which they sat 
down to rest. 

Nellie was not quite herself this evening, 
and it had required all the talking ability Dick 
possessed to keep her in a genial mood. She 
would sometimes, in spite of his efforts, fasten 
her eyes on a distant object and be slow to 
answer his many and odd questions, until he 
began to suspicion that perhaps she was sorry 
that she was not with Jerry instead of himselfi 
While thus thinking, he caught sight of some 
letters which had been cut on a beech tree 
some years ago, and, without a word, went 
closer to ascertain what they were. They 
were “ T. W.” and “N. C.” 

“ Come this way, Nellie,” and pointing to 
the letters “ N. C.,” he exclaimed; “ Those 


A BOMANTIC HISTORY. 


75 


are tlie initials of your name, and these are 
for—” 

“ Tlieophilus Wallop,” she said, interrupting 
him. 

‘‘ Poor fellow,” said Dick, “ I can’t help but 
feel sorry for him,” and there was an unusual 
seriousness about his face which showed Nel- 
lie that he actually meant what he said. 

At this remark she felt a queer sensation 
creep over her, for it was the only word of 
sympathy she liad heard uttered in his behalf 
since the terrible crime was committed. She 
hid her emotions and responded : “Dick, you 
don’t sympathize with a thief, do you ? ” 

“ I sympathize with Tlieophilus Wallop, for 
he was my best friend,” said he, without an- 
swering her in the abstract. 

“ But he did a ^reat wrons^ and committed 
a serious crime, if what we learn is true,” said 
Nellie, with her eyes firmly fixed on his own. 

“ Certainly, I know that, but we had so 
much fun together, and he was so kind to me, 
that I can’t help but pity him,” said Dick, re- 
flectively. 

“He had a good home and kind parents 
with whom he could have lived an honest life,” 
she said, inquiringly. 

“ Yes, he ought to have been honest, but I 
would not have lived with his father a month, 
for his farm,” said Dick, with emphasis. 

“ AYhy?” 

“ AYeil, I know why.” 

“ Tlieophilus mistreated his father, I heard.” 

“ Put the shoe on the other foot and it will 
fit,” said Dick. 

“ I don’t undei’stand you,” she said. 


76 


THEOPHIL US JVA LL OP. 


“ It’s none of my l)usiness, but I don’t won- 
der that he left home.” 

He ought not to have al)used his father,” 
said Nellie. 

“ You mean that his father ought not to have 
abused him.” 

“ No, I mean he should not have struck his 
father and then leave home.” 

“Who ever said lie did such a thing? ” 

“ I think Samuel, his brother, told it.” 

“ To whom did he tell it? ” 

“ To Jerry Halter, I believe.” 

“ And Jerry told you, of course.” 

“ I did not say that, Dick.” 

“ No, but I guessed as much. Well,” con- 
tinued he, “I much prefer to take the state- 
ment of Mrs. Mhdlop as to how the matter 
occurred.” 

“ Has she told you about it?” 

“ She has. ” 

“ And what did she tell you, please? ” 

“ Will you keep it a secret, if I tell you?” 

“ Certainly, if you desire it.” 

“ She did not tell me every word thnt was 
said, but gave me an account of the trouble. 

‘ Theophilus ’ said she, ‘ struck Samuel in the 
face, a serious blow^ fo)* which IMr. AY all op 
used his swdtch on him severely, making a 
wmund in his cheek, without any resistance on 
the part of Theophilus.’ ” 

“Did she tell you what w^as the immediate 
cause of their difference?” 

“ She did not, for she was much distressed, 
and cried so pitifully when Theophilus’s name 
was mentioned, that I had to leave to kec}) 
from shedding a few^ tears myself, and you 
know that I am too big to cry.” 


A HOMAJ^TIC llISTOIiY. 


nn 

“Poor woman,” said Nellie, as her eyes 
filled with tears. 

Dick was too good hearted not to be moved 
by the. sympathetie face before him. There 
was a long silence, during which both were 
busy thinking. 

“ Nellie,” said Dick, “ let’s you and I make 
a bargain and turn detectives, and see what we 
can find out about this whole trouble.” 

Nellie was forced to laugh at the odd propo- 
sition, and, blushing, at first regarded it as 
ridiculous, for she had always been taught by 
her good aunt not to meddle in other people’s 
aftidrs ; besides, what could a helpless girl like 
herself do in such matters? Dick, seeing 
from her countenance that she did not regard 
the matter favorably, said: “You can’t help 
but feel sorry for poor Mrs. Wallop, and The- 
ophilus and I have been such good friends 
that I would just like to know why he got into 
all this trouble. I will do the prying around 
and will report to you occasionally what I find 
out. 

Dick saw where he ndght accomplish two 
purposes : he might be able to do his absent 
friend some good, and it would be a first-class 
opportunity of making himself “solid” with 
Nellie and keep the other young men at a dis- 
tance, and especially Jerry Halter. 

Nellie had already detected a falsehood in 
the story of Theophilus’s abuse of his father, 
and as her part was that of a mere listener 
she consented to give the plan a trial. It was 
agreed that Dick should learn all he could dur- 

O 

ing the coming week, and report the next Sun- 
day afternoon. 

This suited him exactly, for he expected 


TIIEOPBIL ITS WALLOP. 


7S 

Jerry would ))e well by that time and over bis 
“ mad spell,*’ and he knew him well enough to 
feel assured that he would try to get even with 
him for that day’s contest. 

Nellie glanced once more at the letters on 
the tree, arid they both returned to the house 
just as the sun was sinking in the west. 

Dick struck out for home, which was with a 
Mr. Flint at the time, for Dick had no mother 
or father living, both having died when he 
was small, leaving him an orphan among the 
good people of the neighborhood. Ilis only 
relatives, an uncle and aunt on his father’s 
side, lived in Iowa. He had been kindly 
treated, and was a general favorite, first one 
assisting him and then another until he was 
large enough to earn his own living, which he 
now did as a hired hand. 

He was highly elated with his new idea, and 
determined to go to work at once. Nellie re- 
sumed her usual domestic duties, but passed 
the following Aveek in a somewhat disturbed 
condition of mind. 

CHAPTER X. 

** Sam, you are the slyest fox in these dig- 
gins,” said Jerry Halter, as the two bosom 
friends sat beneath a walnut tree, which stood 
near the bend of the road in the woods some 
distance from Mr. Wallop’s barn. 

“ I don’t often get beat when I put this piece 
of machinery to work,” said Samuel Wallop, 
Avho felt flattered by the remark, placing his 
fi iger on his forehead. 

“ How did you get the old man’s consent to 
make the will, anyway?” 


A BOMAJVTIC HISTORY. 


79 


“ O that Avas easy. I saw Thornbush, the 
minister, and told him all about Theophilus’s 
heating father, his running otF from home, and 
of his stealing Mrs. Pepper’s money. I told 
him the disgrace was killing father, and that I 
did not belicA^e I could Ih^e long under it my- 
self. We talked a long time. He Avanted me 
to regard it as one of those afflictions which 
befall the Christian in his journey to the better 
Avorld. I asked him if something could not 
be done to relieve us from the disgrace before 
AA^e left this mundane sphere, for instance, could 
father not make a will and cut ofi* Theophilus 
on account of his crime. 

“ ‘O certainly, it is his duty to do so at 
once,’ was his answer. 

“ ‘ Will you talk with him on the subject,’ I 
asked. 

“ ‘ I Avill see him tomorrow,’ said he. 

“ ‘Do, Brother Thornbush, if you please,’ 
said I, ‘ for I do not feel like I could meet the 
brethren of the church Avith this great load on 
me.’ 

“ ‘Be assured. Brother Wallop, that I Avill 
spare no pains in setting you and your dis- 
tressed parents right AAdth the world if I can,’ 
Avas his reply. 

“ ‘ You will not mention my visit to any one, 
I hope,’ said I. 

“ ‘ These communications, my brother, are 
sacred and privileged, and should I reveal them 
to the Avorld I Avould be unfit to teach among 
the children of men,’ he replied. I handed 
him a little something to help him through the 
AAmrld and Avent back home. I had spoken to 
the old chap about the matter myself, but 
mother kept flying up about it, and I could 


80 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


not make ago of it, but I knew Brother Thorn- 
bush had a great influence over him, and I de- 
termined to put him to work, if possible. 
Sure enough, next day he came over and had 
a long talk with the folks, and I listened and 
heard all I could from outside of the house. 
He read a great deal of Scripture : ‘ If thy 
right hand offend thee cut it off and throw it 
away,’ etc., and some more I couldn’t under- 
stand. Finally the old man gave up and I 
went after you.” 

“ Ah, that was the way, was it? I thought 
the. ‘ old man ’ tumbled tolerably quick,” said 
Halter, as he looked down the road. 

“ Say, Jerry, you want to keep mum about 
our matters, and especially so al)out Clayborn’s, 
for I did not like the way that gal looked at 
me at meeting last Sunday.” 

“ Well, I know how to be silent, and as for 
Nell Clayborn, if she does not treat me better 
than she did last Sunday afternoon, I will not 
speak to her in the future.” 

“ Got sacked, I suppose.” 

“ Not exactly that, but that little upstart of 
a boy, Dick Spooner, got in ahead of me,” 
said Halter. 

Samuel gave a low, characteristic chuckle, 
but suddenly stopped short as he thought he 
heard a noise in the underbrush near by. 
Both listened for some time in breathless si- 
lence, but nothing save the voices of the 
‘ ‘ whip-poor-will ” and ‘ ‘ katy-did ” could be 
heard. 

“I’ll square up with Spooner yet,” contin- 
ued Jerry. 

“ You better go slow in this here ‘ gal ’ busi- 


A l^OJfAJVTIC IIISTOBY. 


81 


ness, for the}" are dangerous creatures to fool 
with,” said Sam, cautiously. 

“ Well, 1 am going to have my fun, besides, 
old Clayl)orn has got lots of stuff, 3 ^ou know.” 

“ Yes, but the road you are taking is the 
furtherest around to it, it seems to me.” 

“ That may be so, but that girl’s worth hav- 
ing, and I will get her yet, if I have to wring 
Spooner’s neck to accomplish it.” 

Again both stopped to listen, l)ut the same 
silence prevailed as before. After a short in- 
terval Samuel, without a word, took his com- 
rade by the arm and together they went to the 
house and were soon in the same l)ed, where 
what was said, if an^Tliing, was heard only by 
themselves. 

Dick Spooner had gone over that day, at an 
hour when he knew Anthony and his son Sam- 
uel would be in the field at work, for the pur- 
pose of borrowing, as he said, a “ single-tree,” 
for Mr. Flint’s farm joined Mr. Wallop’s on 
the east. Dick was ploughing corn alone in 
the field. He was much worried for an excuse 
to visit Mrs. "\Tallop, for it was she whom he 
w^anted to see. He knew that, very likely his 
visit would be known by both Mr. Wallop and 
Flint, and he must have a plausible excuse for 
his absence. He tried hard to run his plow 
deep in the ground under a root and break the 
single-tree which was manifesting signs of 
age, but it persisted in doing duty as of old. 
Not to be outdone, he deliberately unhitched 
the horse, took it loose from the plough, and 
fetching it a blow near the middle across a 
stump, it dropped in two pieces on the ground, 
much to his satisfaction. 

HWhen Dick arrived that morning at Wallop’s 


82 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


house he found no one at home, as he expected, 
but Mrs. Wallop, who had just come in from 
the garden with a pan full of new potatoes 
which she was preparing for dinner. He told 
her his business, and the good woman went to 
the barn and returned with the article in a 
very short time. 

Dick looked around curiously, but saw noth- 
ing Avhich attracted his attention except the 
switch over the door. He did not exactly 
know how to jrroceed to get the information 
he wanted, but remembering that harvest was 
at hand, he asked Mrs. Wallop on her return 
‘ ‘ who was going to help Mr. Wallop cut his 
wheat ? ” 

“ Jerry Halter,” she said, “ was all they had 
gotten yet.” 

“When will they commence work?” in- 
quired Dick. 

“ This afternoon,” she said. 

“ Jerry will go home of a night, I suppose, 
and come back each morning,” said Dick, me- 
chanically. 

“No, he will stay here; Mrs. McSquint 
has gone to her sister’s.” 

He took his leave without further questions, 
and was feeling much pleased with his success, 
for he- had determined to shadow Jerry and 
Samuel at the first opportunity. The hours 
of the remainder of the day dragged slowl}^ to 
him, for he was in a fever, almost, for dark- 
ness to come. 

Mr. Flint and family retired early, as usual 
at this season of the year, and just after dark, 
Dick quietly left Jiis room, and made his way 
cautiously to within a hundred yards or so of 
Mr. Wallop’s residence. He moved alor^ 


A BOMANTIC HISTOUY. 


83 


carefully to avoid observation. Everything 
was still, and he was about to conclude that 
they were all asleep, but just then he heard 
occasional sounds down the road, when he in- 
stantly took off his shoes and moved in that 
direction until he saw the figures of Samuel 
and Jerry near the bend of the road. He kept 
as near them as he safely could, until they 
sat down beneath the tree, when he stole up 
quietly to within twenty feet of the pair, where 
he lay flat on the ground, still as a mouse, 
catching every word that was said. He lis- 
tened to Samuel giving the details of the man- 
ner in which he had procured the making of 
the will with interest. His inexperience as a 
detective and his peculiar make-up were respon- 
sible for two grave blunders which occurred, 
and but for which he might have gained valu- 
able information. 

When he heard Halter say that “Dick 
Spooner had gotten ahead of him with Nellie,” 
he was seized with a fit of laughter, which he 
tried hard to suppress, but did not entirely 
succeed, and made enough noise to attract Sam- 
uel’s attention. Again, when he heard that 
his own neck was to be wrung like a chicken’s, 
he fairly shook the ground around him. 

It was the noise he made the second time 
which frightened the two companions away. 
He followed after them, but was unable to hear 
another word. He went back to his home, 
and remained awake a long while, thinking of 
what he had heard. He had heard enough to 
lead him to suspqct that these two fellows were 
in some deep scheme together. 

Samuel’s statement as to how he worked 
the Eev. Mr. Thornbush, and secured his assis- 
tance in procuring the execution of the will. 


84 


THEOPHIL US WALLOP. 


luid made a decided impression on Ids mind ; 
and the boastful manner in ^vhicli he related 
the circumstances to his chum convinced him 
that Sam Wallop was capable of any amount 
of hypocrisy and treachery. 

As to Jerry, he could not think of him with- 
out feeling very much tickled and amused. 
He made up his mind at once to give that 
worthy 3^oung man all the rope lie wanted. 
He upbraided himself for his lack of caution, 
and promised himself to do better in the fu- 
ture. 

Each nio’ht durino' the remainder of the 
week, Dick hung around IMr. Wallop’s resi- 
dence, but was unable to hear a word between 
the two young men. He was not disheartened 
or weaiy, for he was able to be in his own bed 
by half past ten, every night. On Friday 
night, just as he was about to return and was 
in the act of leaving his hiding-place, he saw a 
dickering light through the west door, which 
was immediately shut off, and he knew the 
door had opened. He watched for a tew mo- 
ments, when he saw someone coming directly 
toward him, as he was near the road. He 
quickly lay down in the tall weeds, when Jerry, 
alone, walked past and within a few feet of him, 
down the road in the direction of the walnut 
tree. 

Dick followed after him, stealthily, but he 
did not stop at the tree but continued down a 
little ravine into a thick woods, which made it 
difficult to keep in sight of him. He followed 
as best he could, stopping now and then to 
listen, when finally Halter stopped at the trunk 
of a large oak tree which had fallen, leaving 
quite a large holq in the earth. 

What he was doing, or did, Dick could not 


A BOMANTIC HISTOBY. 


85 


tell. He remained but a little while and re- 
turned, followed as before, until he had entered 
the door from whence he came. He knew it 
was too dark to go back to the spot that night 
with any hope of learning the object of Halter’s 
visit, and determined to return in daylight. 
Accordingly, on Saturday morning he ol)tained 
leave to go squirrel hunting, a common custom 
at that time, for the woods contained plenty of 
game.' He took the precaution to reconnoitre 
in the fields where Mr. Wallop and his hands 
were at work, and found them busily engaged 
in finishing u}) the wheat harvest. 

Without being noticed by any one, he wa^i- 
dered around to the location of the fallen tree. 
He was unable, at first, to see any sign of the 
earth or underbrush having been disturbed ; but 
^on brushing away the dry leaves, he saw two 
well-defined foot-prints made in the red clay 
near the root of the tree. He took an accurate 
measurement of each, and at once came to the 
conclusion that one of these tracks had been 
made by Halter, and the other by Samuel, as 
one was considerably larger than the other. 

He commenced a vigilant search among the 
brush and crevices in the timber thereabout. 
He hunted a long while without success, and 
was just giving up in despair, when lie con- 
cluded to rake away the dry leaves from be- 
neath the fallen oak ; and away up the log, 
where a large limb had grown out, he reached 
his hand, when instantly he heard a hissing 
sound, and just as he drew back his hand, a 
huge rattlesnake shot forth its muddy head, 
' just touching him but not breaking the skin; 
Poor Dick, he bounded into the air, while his 
blood seemed to freeze in his veins, and fetched 


86 


TIIEOPBIL US WALLOP. 


a yell that would have done credit to a “ Conl- 
inanchie” Indian. 

It was some time before he got sufficients 
composed to get a club near by and dispatch 
the reptile, which he finally did. He took his 
rifle on his shoulder, and without further 
search returned to Mr. Flint’s. 

Early in the afternoon of the next day, dressed 
in his best clothes, he appeared at Claybprn’s ; 
but to his utter astonishment, as he was nearing 
the house, he saw, sitting on the back porch, 
Jerry Halter, who had reconsidered his resolu- 
tion of the Sunday before, and was now enjoy- 
ing himself to his heart’s content with Nellie 
with whom he was in conversation. 

Halter had always borne a fiiir reputation 
among the people of the neighborhood, on ac- 
count of the fact that he was industrious and 
had, to all outward appearances, kindly treated 
his godmother, Mrs. McSquint. Jerry’s mother 
had died when he was an infant, and his fiither 
had had the misfortune to be sent to the peni- 
tentiary for stealing bacon, but this little bit 
of unpleasant family history was known to but 
a very few, and it was not charged up to the 
orphan, and was kept from the general public. 

He had always lived in the vicinity, where 
Charity, as she was usually called, had taken 
him to raise, and, as a matter of course, he 
was admitted into the best society. Nellie 
possessed such a pleasant nature and knew so 
well how to make people feel comfortable in 
her presence that it was no wonder she had so 
many suitors. 

Jerry had on a new pair of trousers, a pal- 
metto liat and with his bleached muslin shirt 
which had been starched in Charity’s best 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


87 


style, along with a neatly ironed linen coat, he 
presented an alarmingly respectable appear- 
ance, at least, so thought Dick, as he took 
his seat some distance away. 

“It is a pleasant evening, Mr. Spooner,” 
said Xellie, as she took his hat and hurried 
away with it, leaving the two young men to 
enjoy each other’s society while she was gone 
to the front room. The young men had 
nierel}^ spoken on Dick’^ arrival, and were, 
as might be imagined, unpleasantly situ- 
ated, not knowing just what was the proper 
thing to say if, indeed, it was proper to say 
anything. 

At length Dick broke the monotony of the 
occasion and the line of his rival’s thoughts, 
who was, at that moment, going over in his 
mind the words “Mr. Spooner” which a sec- * 
ond time had been applied to his competitor, 
saying : “ How’s your arm, Jerry? ” referring 
to his injury on his former visit, and in a tone 
half-way between pity and contempt. 

“ It is in good condition, as you will prob- 
ably learn,” said Jerry, reddening in the face. 

“I am real glad,” said Dick, apparently 
not noticing the implied threat, “for I was 
afraid it was broken,” and he glanced at the 
ceiling for fear he would betray the merriment 
which was stealing over him. 

Before any reply was made to the last re- 
mark Nellie came back, and the three occupied 
seats at about equal distances from each other. 

It is always a difficult task for a young lady 
to entertain two young men at the same time, 
and she was taxed to her utmost on this occa- 
sion. 

She had already informed Jerry of her en- 


88 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


gagement with Mr. Spooner for that afternoon, 
and he had been inwardly chiding himself for 
his lack of foresight in not pushing the matter 
in his own behalf on his former visit. He 
consequently felt that his presence would be, 
in a measure, a trespass on the rules of pro- 
priety, and, asking for his hat, he took his de- 
parture, going through the house where Nellie 
accompanied him to the door, where, however, 
he secured her promise to entertain him the 
following Sunday afternoon, and he went away 
much happier than on his former visit, but re- 
solving in his heart that “ Mr. Spooner ” 
should yet account for his impudence. 

“ Well, Dick,” said she, on returning, “ how 
do you like playing detective?” 

“ Tip-top ; killed a snake, at least,” he said, 
laughing at his scare. 

“ Hope it did not bite you.” 

“ No, but it scared me out of several years 
growth.” 

“Well, you need not mind that, for you 
are too large now, some folks think,” she said, 
laughing. 

“ I hope I will never grow less in your es- 
timation,” he said, coquettishly. 

“ Don’t get sentimental, Mr. Spooner, but 
tell me what progress you made in hunting up 
matters.” 

He gave her in detail what he had lieard 
about the will, not forgetting what Jerry had 
said about her, her father’s money, and him- 
self. 

She felt indignant but kept her feelings to 
herself. When Dick described his enterprise 
with Jerry and his trip to the fallen oak, she 
manifested great interest, and especially so 


A HOMAJVTIC IIISTOBY, 


89 


when Dick drew from his coat pocket two 
sticks which he had used in measuring the 
footprints. These two tracks, he urged, could 
he no others than those of Samuel and Jeny. 
Besides, they convinced him that these two 
men had visited the spot together at some time 
and liad made an effort to cover up the evi- 
dences of it. 

The facts given and conclusions drawn by 
him were plausible indeed, but they might be 
explained, she thought, but so might the incul- 
patory facts pointing to the guilt of Theophi- 
lus. Xellie again went over in her mind the 
last words she had heard him say ; especially 
did she picture in her mind his face when he 
had her promise to answer his letter. He had 
been gone nearly three weeks, but no letter 
had come to her, and no one had heard of him 
since he was at her own home and that of Mr. 
Pepper. 

It is wonderful how two minchrwill drift into 
the same line of thought sometimes, for Dick, 
after a pause, turned to Nellie and said : “ It’s 
a wonder Theophilus don’t write a letter back 
here to someone if he is not guilty of the 
crime.” 

“ That depends upon how far he has gone 
and whether he wants anyone to know^ of his 
whereabouts.” 

“ Theophilus had a great many friends here, 
and I confess it puzzles me to understand why 
someone cannot tell of his whereabouts.” 

“ It is not too late yet for him to be heard 
from, for he may have traveled a long dis- 
tance.” 

“ Well, wdl,” said he, “ I’ve gone into this 
business, and intend to run the matter down.” 

m ^ 


. 90 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


“ I hope you will, Dick, for the guilty ought 
to be punished and the innocent freed from 
suspicion.” 

“Say, Nellie, how does Jerry talk about me, 
anyway ? ” ' 

‘ ‘ He is not your best friend, I should judge.” 

“ Of course not, because he thinks you and 
I are too good friends ! ” 

“ I do not know as to that, but it need not 
w^orry him,’* she said, emphatically. 

“ When is he coming over again, if you will 
pardon the impertinence of the question ? ” 

“You are inquisitive, aren’t you?” 

“ If I were not, I would not make a good 
detective,” he said, laughing . 

“ Well then, I will not look for you next 
Sunday.” 

“ Veiy well, I won’t get jealous,” and they 
both laughed, for while Nellie enjoyed Dick’s 
society and he hers, and they were the best of 
friends, yet they were not lovers in any sense 
of the word, for Dick, at least, prided himself 
on his ability to keep aloof from such entangle- 
ments. 

It was late in the evening when he left for 
his home without any definite arrangements as 
to his return, but he promised to let her know 
of any new discovery he might make. 

The absence of Theophilus had not been 
discussed by Mr. Clayborn and his family, and 
no theories of the crime had ever been ofiered, 
or explanation suggested, by him. He was 
not a man who rushed along with the tide of 
public opinion, unless his own reason and judg- 
ment thus directed him. He had, in his own 
mind, been slow to believe that one so young 
and apparently honest as Theophilus had al- 


A ttoMAnnc HisTony. 


01 


ways been, could suddenly plunge into the 
depths of crime. He had consequently said 
nothing on the subject, but had been a careful 
listener. Nellie was, on more than one occa- 
sion, on the verge of asking his opinion on the 
subject, but delicacy or something of the kind, 
she knew not what, always prevented her. 
She had been in the habit all her life of asking 
her father’s advice about matters of interest to 
her, but now she shrank from approaching 
him. She confessed to herself, somehow, that 
she was deeply interested in a matter that in- 
volved the life and happiness of another. He 
came to her rescue, however, for he surmised 
that she and Dick had had the matter under 
discussion, but of course did not know what 
they said. 

“ Well, my daughter,” said he, “ have you 
and Dick settled the matter of the great crime, 
and who did it, satisfactorily?” 

“No, indeed, father, I wish we could. 
Can’t you help us?” she said, good-naturedly. 

“ It will require time, I think, to definitely 
settle the facts in the case.” 

“ Do you think, father, that Theophilus did 
it?” 

“Appearances seem to be against him, yet 
there are many things which throw doubt over 
his guilt.” 

“Please explain your meaning fully,” she - 
said, as she drew her chair near his. 

“In the first place, men do not become 
criminals in a day or an hour, as a rule, but 
they become such by degrees, first by petty 
offences and then gradually harden to it.” 

“But there are exceptions to the rule, I 
guess,” said Nellie. 


92 


TIIEOPHIL US WALLOP. 


“ Yes, and if Theopliilus is guilty, he be- 
longs to that class.” 

“ I never thought it of him, and he certainly 
did not look bad,” she said. 

“ That is true; but what does Dick think 
about it?” 

“ He does not believe him guilty, I think,” 
and with this answer she hurried into the next 
room, for she could not answer further ques- 
tions, she was afraid, without violating the 
confidence' of Dick. Upon the whole, the 
matter was left in her mind with almost the 
same degree of uncertainty as before, and she 
concluded, with her father, that it would take 
time to settle the facts. 

Yet there was not an hour, when she was 
awake, but that it was uppermost in her mind. 

CHAPTER XI. 

It was after the harvests were gathered and 
the new-mown hay was giving forth its deli- 
cious odor, and the green and growing corn 
had been “laid by,” that Charity McSquint sat 
out on the front porch of her dwelling. Her 
hair was done up on the back of her head in a 
knot, and securely fastened by a large, long- 
toothed comb, with an ornamental attachment 
which reached far above her head. She was 
not a proud woman, yet she had on a newly 
washed and ironed frock, with little white stars 
dotted over it. She had polished her shoes 
with the oil extract of opossum, which did not 
make them shine and glisten, but they pre- 
sented an appearance of healthy preservation. 
She was knitting a sock for Jerry, for she did 


A BOMANTIC IIISTOBY. 


m 


not wait like some people till dead of winter, 
she declared, to do such work. 

The needles were flying fast, for she was an 
expert at knitting, while her mind was equally 
busy, darting from theme to theme and won- 
derin<>' how tliis one and that one was "ettino; 
along in the world. 

She was unselfish, purely so, and would go 
any distance to instruct or give advice, and mix 
or straighten any little difference there might 
exist among her neighbors. She had persuaded 
Surrilda, that notwithstanding her great mis- 
fortune, there Avas much for her to Ih^e for; 
and now she Avas revolving in her mind the best 
plan to check the anguish and soothe the sor- 
roAv of poor Mrs. Wallop, Avho must he giving 
doAAui beneath the great Aveight upon her, since 
her son, Theophilus, had become a highway 
robber, as she called him. 

It seemed to her, good soul, that the neigh- 
bors were not doing all for this woman’s com- 
foit which might and ought to be done in such 
a serious case. While thus thinking she re- 
solved to go that very afternoon and pay her 
a visit, and Avith this hasty conclusion she 
dropped her knitting, hurried through the 
house to the door next to the field in Avhich 
Jerry AA as at Avork, and shouted : “ O Jer-ry ! ” 
He not ansAA^ering, she pitched her voice a feAV 
tones higher, and screamed, “ Jer-re-e,” Avhich 
brought the young man to the house in great 
haste. 

“ I want you to catch ‘ old John ’ for me by 
the time dinner is read}^” said she. Old John 
was a pacing saddle-horse, and Avidely known 
in the neighborhood as “ stockin’” tlohn, be- 
cause three of his feet Avere white while the re- 


94 


TllEOPHIL US WALLOP. 


nifiinder of liis body was a deep red bay. This 
animal, with the other stock, had been turned 
into the new pastures just opened by the re- 
moval of the grain and grass. Jeny took 
down from the rack lier riding bridle and pro- 
ceeded to execute his order with some misgiv- 
ing, for stockin’ John was a characteristic 
horse. He was the most docile of creatures 
and could pace and rock like a sugar trough, 
making four miles an hour with the greatest 
ease. 

Charity took great pleasure in pushing him 
to his greatest speed when in company, or when 
nearing the church. He would eat salt out of 
your hmid and allow you to rub him even when 
out in the broad fields, but was very particu- 
lar that you did not get hold of his mane or 
ears. In other words he was veiy fond of lib- 
erty especially so when the “pickin’’ was good. 

On this occasion he was very partial to his 
new location and led Jerry many times around 
the field in his eftbrt to capture him. He would 
allow his pursuer to almost get him in his 
grasp, when he would wheel suddenly around, 
emit a wheezing neigh, send his heels high 
up in the air, scamper to the other side of the 
pasture and commence grazing afresh. It was 
apparently great sport for the horse, but to 
Jerry, who was perspiring from his exertion in 
the heat of a burning sun, it was an unpleasant 
task indeed. 

The chase was kept up until Jerry was both 
angry and exhausted, but “ old John” was calm 
and serene. Mrs. IMcSquint took note of the 
long absence, and suspecting the cause, took 
up her sun-bonnet and hurried to Jeny’s as- 
sistance. The horse was finally caught, after 


A BOM AN TIC HIS TOBY. 


95 


cornering him with one on each side, much to 
the gratification of Jerry, who had begun to 
use language much too harsh for polite society. 

The dinner was over, the horse ready ; and 
after admonishing Jerry to be careful about 
fire, and to see that the hawks did not get any 
of the dominicker ” hen’s chickens, which 
had just been hatched, she mounted her steed 
with head erect, and struck out in a pacing rock 
on her mission of Christian duty. 

She arrived in a short time, for it was but a 
little over two miles distant, and hitching her 
horse to the fence, she made her way to the 
front door, where Mrs. Wallop met her with 
extended hand. This she grasped and held 
for a moment, but not satisfied, she threw both 
arms about her neck and occupied her accus- 
tomed amount of time in hugging and weep- 
ing, not neglecting to occasionally pound Mrs. 
Wallop in the back and shoulders with her 
trembling fist. 

“Oh, how I do pity you ! ” she moaned, as 
she released her neighbor, who was not en- 
tirely overcome by the manifestation of disin- 
terested affection, for she was acquainted with 
Charity’s weakness in this regard, if we may 
call it such. 

“Are you well. Charity?” said Mrs. Wallop, 
not heeding her very sympathetic remark. 

“Yes, I am middlin’ well now, but I was 
right bad off all last week. I had the ‘ flimsey ’ 
in my throat, but I made a poultice of garlic 
and ‘cuckle burs,’ and I am better again, but 
I am never stout any more. How is your 
folks — I mean Mr. Wallop, Samuel, and your- 
self?” 

“We are all about as well as common, except 


96 


THEOPIIIL US IVJiLL OP. 


Anthony, who complains of rheumatism a good 
deal here of late.” 

“Poor old man, it is hard to be afflicted and 
troubled both at the same time, but I know 
just what will cure his rheumatiz.” 

“Well, I have done everything for him I 
know how to do,” said Mrs. AYallop. 

“Have you ever rubbed him with burdock 
and pokeberry roots bilt down ? ” 

“Yes, we have used both, but they seem to 
do no good. ” 

“Did you ever poultice him with stewed 
in gems ?” 

“No, I never tried that.” 

“Did you ever rub him with red. pepper? 
That’s the very best thing in the world. 
M"hen Hiram lay all winter with the ‘ syatticks’ 
(and rheumatiz is nothing to syatticks) I used 
to rub him by the hour, plum from his ‘hock ’ 
up to his clavicle blade. But, poor man, when 
he took the yaller janders, I knowed he had 
to go.” And she wiped her eyes with her 
apron. 

“Yes, we all have our troubles,’' said Mrs. 
AYallop. 

“ I have been so sorry for you lately that I 
thought I ought to come and see you, and com- 
fort you all I could,” she said, in a motherly 
tone. 

“I am used to trouble, and I suppose we 
all are.” . 

“I used to grieve very much,” said Charity, 

‘ ‘ because I had no children , but since your great 
sorrow I have become reconciled so that I can 
throw my disaffection on Jerry.” 

“My children are very dear to me. ” 

“You mean Samuel.” 


A Ii03/A]VTIC ITISTOnr. 


97 


“No, I mean my cliiWren.” 

“Blit Theophilus, I beard, had been dis- 
owned by you.” 

“You have doubtless lieard a great many 
things which are not true,” she said with some 
warmth. 

“Oh, yes, but he has left home, and abused 
his father, and — ” 

“He did not abuse his father,” Mrs. AYallop 
interposed. 

“Is it not true that he struck his father with 
a piece of timber?” said Mrs. McSquint, turn- 
ing in her seat with great anxiety. 

“It is not.” 

“Goodness sakes alive,” she exclaimed in 
astonishment, and continued : 

“ But what about my sister’s money ?” 

“I know nothing about it,” she said. 

“But you know Theophilus is accused of 
taking it. ” 

“Yes, I have heard so, but he is an honest 
bo}^, and I don’t believe he took the mone}^” 

“I would be so glad to know he did not do 
it,” said the inquisitor. 

“Maybe you will know it some day,” said 
Mrs. Wallo[) with a sigh. 

“ I cZo hope so, but since Hiram left me I 
feel that I haven’t much to live for and want 
to be at rest,” and she placed her right hand 
against her troubled face, and siq)ported her 
elbow with her left. (This was a favorite at- 
titude with Charity when she went into a state 
of absolute solemnity.) She remained silent 
for some time, but feeling that she had not 
done all in her power to console the distressed 
woman, she blew her nose on her apron and 
renewed her questions. 


98 THEOPHIL IT 8^ WALL OP. 

fv . 

“Jeny toldme tha^'^Ir. Pepper said that 
Samuel should have remarked to him at one 
time that Theophilus was l)ad to steal water- 
‘ millions, ’ when a small boy. Was that so 
Mrs. Wallop?” 

“Not to my knowledge.” 

‘ ‘ And did he try to take Brother Thornbush’s 
hymn-book, when he Avas having family wor- 
ship here at home with you, some years ago?” 

‘ ‘ He picked up the book and was looking 
through its pages without Brother Thornbush 
knowing it,” was the prompt reply. 

Noav this answer was not satisfactory to Mrs. 
McSquiiit, for had she not heard Avith her own 
ears, Bi'other Thornbush, in the most sarchin’ 
sermon he ever delivered, refer to this little 
circumstance as one of the descendin’ stair 
steps, Avhich led the young man into the depths 
of in-i-quitty? When her minister ]minted a 
picture and spread it over her brain, it Avas 
not easily rubbed out, especially by the boy’s 
mother, who, she was already persuaded, was 
apologizing for her fallen son. 

“Is there anything else you wish to know ?” 
asked Mrs. AAallop sarcastically. 

“ Oh, yes, Mrs. AYallop, for I felt so bad for 
you that I could not rest of nights until I had 
seen you, and heard from your own lips about 
this ‘ calamitory.’ ” 

‘ ‘ I believe I have answered all your ques- 
tions,” ansAver^d Mrs. Wallop. 

“ AAhat do you think made Theophilus leaA^e 
home?” and she laid great stress on the words 
“ do you.” 

“ He left home, I think, because his father 
punished him for striking his brother.” 

“A¥hy should he strike his brother who 


A BOMAJyriC HISTORY. 


99 


was always so good and kind, for Samuel and 
Jerry are so good to each other.” 

“He was not always kind to Theophilus, and 
this morning, I have since learned, he used 
unbecoming language about Mr. Clayborn’s 
daughter, which excited Theophilus to hit him.” 

How long this conversation, including the 
cross-examination and answers thereto, would 
have continued, no one knows, but for the hap- 
pening of a little incident Avliich caused Mrs. 
McSquint to raise the turkey-wing she was at 
the time using as a fan and signal silence, for 
she had discovered some person near the door. 

In a moment more Dick Spooner took off 
his hat and bowed politely to the two ladies. 
He was not acquainted with Mrs. McSquint, 
although he had seen her at the meeting. He 
had caught the last answer given by Mrs. TVal- 
lop, in which she explained why Theo])hilus 
had struck Samuel on the day of his departure. 
Dick had gotten a piece of information he was 
not looking for on that evening, for he had come 
over to talk with Mr. M'allop about the mak- 
ing of the will if a suitable opportunity offered. 
He had seen “stockin’ John” hitched with a 
side-saddle on and was curious to hear any 
thing which might be said, and had been so 
quiet in his movements that he had heard a 
little of the conversation unobserved, but was 
now in a pickle for a plausible excuse for his 
sudden appearance. 

He was troubled at the time with a fever- 
blister on his lip, and seizing this as a starting- 
point, asked Mrs. Wallop if she knew what 
was good for a sore mouth ? 

“ Alum,” said she. 

“Alum’s good,” said Mrs. McSquint, “but 
there’s nothing like ‘ yaller root,’ ” 


100 


TIIEOPIIIL US WALL OP, 


“ Could I get some alum or yellow root, 
either one, of you ? ” said Dick, addressing Mrs. 
Wallop. 

“Sit down, Dick, and I will see if I have 
some, before you leave.” There was some- 
thing in her tone that indicated to him that she 
did not wish him to leave right away. He ac- 
cordingly took his seat, placed his hat on the 
table, and assumed the attitude of one who 
had come to pass the evening. Mrs. McSquint 
looked at the sun, and said “ she would have 
to go home and get a ‘ snack ’ for Jerry.” She 
at once commenced })leading with Mrs. Wallop 
to be sure and come to see her soon, for she 
Avas so lonely ; and manifested such signs of 
immediate departure, that Dick very politely 
said he Avould bring her horse nearer the house 
and help her on. 

He took his hat and went to the horse and 
noted very carefully the three white legs, and 
the further fact that “ stockin’ John ” had a 
habit of turning the toes or front part of his 
hind feet iiiAvard, and on a further examination 
found that he Avas Avearing shoes considerably 
Avorn. These were not extraordinary facts, 
but Avere of much interest to Dick, or he 
would not have examined them so closely. 

Mrs. McSquint Avas soon mounted and hur- 
ried away, having performed a neighbor’s part 
at least, as she soliloquized to herself. 

“ Well, Dick, I am glad you came over, for 
you and Theophilus were such good friends 
that it does me good to see you.” 

“ We are as good friends as ever, if not 
l)etter,” said he. 

“ They have not made you belieA^e he is a 
thief, then,” she said, as the tears came to her 
eyes. 


A BOM ANTIC HISTORY. 


101 


“I wish everybody was as honest as he.” 

“ Yes, poor boy, he was so kind to me, and 
was nearly all the company I had.” And she 
cried as if her heart were broken, making Dick 
feel very sad indeed. 

“You have no idea where he intended to 
go?” he said, when she became quiet. 

“ No, he never said a word when he left, but 
he looked so pale and the tears stood in his 
eyes as he passed the door.” And again the 
mother’s grief overcame her, and Dick thought 
it best to change thq subject. 

“ Mrs. McSquint is very much interested in 
your troubles, I suppose.” 

“ I do not know, but she is very inquisitive.” 

“Samuel feels badly because of Theophilus’ 
trouble as well as Mr. Wallop.” (He did not 
intend the latter part of the sentence when he 
began it.) 

“ Samuel never mentions his name to me; 
he has taken up with Jerry Halter, and they 
are together so much that I don’t know how he 
feels nowadays.” 

“ He is lonesome, I suppose, and.has taken 
Jerry as a friend in place of Theophilus.” 

“ I don’t know as to that, for he and The- 
ophilus never got along well together; but 
since he has gone away he stays a great deal 
with Jeny. 

Dick did not feel like asking her any further 
questions, but would have liked to have told 
her his opinion of the whole matter, if he dared, 
l)ut he knew that he ought not to confide his se- 
crets to her at this time at least. He told her 
he must leave, so she gave him some dr}^ yel- 
low root, and told him to come and see her 


102 


TIIEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


often, as she felt that he was about the only 
friend she had left. 

He went away to his home in a more seri- 
ous mood than was usual for his good-nature. 
He had never been cared for in his youth by a 
mother^s tender hands. He reflected that he 
had been tossed about among strangers all his 
life, and after witnessing the grief and real 
love which Mrs. Wallop had manifested for her 
absent boy, he bemoaned his lot for being left 
alone in the world. How Theophilus could 
have left this good, kind-hearted mother, what- 
ever the cause, puzzled him. Her last words 
had deeply moved him, and he was determined 
to renew his effort in a search for facts which 
would clear up the crime, if possible. The 
week was nearly gone but he had not been idle. 
He had discovered a fact or two which to his 
mind needed further tracing. Early in the 
week, it occurred to his inexperienced mind 
that he might possibly do some work in the 
neighborhood of Mr. Pepper’s, and conse- 
quently he made his way to that place on foot. 
He stopped at a house very near the road lead- 
ing east from Mr. Pepper’s and about a mile 
distant therefrom. 

He reached the house just before the dinner 
hour, from a westerly direction, and inquired 
the way to Mr. Clayborn’s. He was directed 
by an elderly gentleman, who gave his name as 
Oliver Latemeal. 

“Is this the neighborhood where the money 
was stolen a few weeks ago?” inquired Dick. 

“ Yes, jest a mile back.” 

“Have they caught the thief yet?” 

“No, I guess not; they are not trying very 
hard, don’t think,” 


A UOMANTIC HISTORY. 


103 


“ It was a pretty bold trick, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes, but if they hadn’t been showing their 
money to everybody they would not have lost 
it,” he said. 

“ Who do they accuse of the crime?” 

“ A man by the name of Wallop, a young 
feller who stayed all night there.” 

“Oh, I reckon they will get him yet, won’t 
they ? ” 

“I don’t know whether they will or not, and 
I don’t know whether he is the right man when 
they do get him,” said Mr. Latemeal. 

“ Is there more than one suspicioned of the 
crime?” asked Dick, growing more interested. 

“ l^ot that I know of.” 

“Then why do 3^011 seem to doubt whether 
Wallop is the right man?” 

“I don’t know whether I ought to tell or 
not,” said he. 

“If you know any fact that would lead to 
the detection of the thief I should think you 
ought to tell it,” said Dick. 

“Yes, I expect so, but Mrs. Pepper and' my 
old woman don’t agree very well, and I don’t 
like to meddle.” 

This conversation was held near the fence 
between the house and the road. Dick was get- 
ting much interested in Mr. Latemeal’s mys- 
terious statements, and wanted to get his no- 
tion of the affair, so was studying the best mode 
to proceed when dinner was called. 

Dick readily accepted an invitation to dine 
with him, but was not very warmly received 
by the lady of the house, who was somewhat 
prejudiced against strangers. On entering the 
house, he saw an emaciated boy sitting in the 
corner, who had evidently passed through a 


104 


THEOPIIIL US WALLOP. 


spell of fever, and speaking kindl}' asked him 
if he had been much sick. 

“Yes, I was pretty bad when Surrilda Pep- 
per had her money stoled.” 

‘ ‘ And that’s why I happen to know a little 
something about it,” said the boy’s father. 

“You was sitting up with the boy at the 
time?” suggested Dick. 

“ Eggs-zackly,” said he, motioning Dick to 
the table. 

“It is none of my business, perhaps,” said 
Dick, but I would like to know whether you 
saw Mr. Wallop the night of the crime?” 

“I did not that I know of, for he was afoot. ” 

“ Then I presume you saw someone on 
horseback. ” 

“Now stranger, I don’t want to go to court 
about this thing, and have never told anybody 
what I know, and don’t want to meddle in it.” 

“ If you know anything that would convict 
the guilty party, you certainly would be doing 
the community in which you live a great ser- 
vice by letting it be known ; and if you know 
any fact or circumstance which would shield 
an innocent person, then common humanity 
ought to induce you to make it public at once,” 
said Dick, earnestly. 

“That’s what I’ve been telling him all the 
time, for old Miss Pepper wouldn’t keep any- 
thing back for you,” interposed Mrs. Latemeal. 

“Yes, that’s the trouble with women; you 
talk too much,” said her husband. 

“I’d rather talk too much than to keep 
things to myself that ought to be known,” re- 
torted his wife a little angrily. 

“Well, nobody asked about it until this gen- 
tleman did,” he said in an apologizing tone. 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


105 


“And you did not care about volunteering 
your knowledge,” said Dick. 

“ Eggs-zackly, and now, stranger, all I saw 
was this : 

“About half past eleven o’clock, the night 
the money was taken, I saw a horse going 
west, and a few minutes after twelve of the 
same night, I saw the same horse going east.” 

“What was the color of the horse,” said 
Dick, dropping his fork on the floor. 

“I could not tell that eggs-zackly, but he 
had three or four white feet, and his body at 
night looked dark ; it was starlight and I could 
not "see very plainly.” 

‘ ‘ Was the horse shod ? ” 

“It appeared so next morning from the 
tracks I saw.” 

“Did you make any measurement of the 
tracks ? ” 

“ I did, and they were four inches and a half 
wide, and five and three-quarter inches long.” 

“There was someone riding the horse of 
course ? ” 

“ Yes, the horse was not loose.” 

“ Could you give a descri[)tion of the man 
riding ? ” 

“ I could not, for I was twenty-five or thirty 
feet away, and the man did not stop, but kept 
going on in a pace, if I mistake not.” 

“Is this all you know about the matter?” 

“ Yes, that’s all I saw.” 

“Of course,” said Mrs. Latemeal, speaking 
up, “I did not see the horse, but I’m purty 
shure that it was the same that passed here on 
Sunday before, now you hear it,” she said, as 
she made a dash for the teakettle which was 
boiling: over on the fire. 

O 


106 


THEOPHILTTS WALLOP. 


Dick was considerably excited over this little 
narrative, and after finishing the meal, and 
thanking his host for the entertainment, he 
took his departure, determined to trace the 
horse and rider further if possible. He quietly 
worked the neighborhood for two days longer 
without further success, and was on his way 
back to Mr. Flint’s, when in passing Mr. Wal- 
lop’s, he saw “ stockin’ John” hitched to the 
fence as herein before stated, and it was the 
story of Mr. Latemeal which caused him to 
scrutinize the horse so closely. 

He was tired and went to bed that night at 
an early hour, fully convinced in his own mind 
that Theophilus Wallop had not stolen ]\Irs. 
Pepper’s money. 

CHAPTER XII. 

“ I BELIEVE I did not ask your name,” said 
Mr. Grewel, a farmer, addressing his hired 
hand, who had worked for him the last two 
days. 

“ My name is Wallop, Theophilus Wallop,” 
was the answer. 

This question was asked at the supper table 
on the second Saturday evening after Theoph- 
ilus had left home. He had stopped at this 
gentleman’s house, some thirty miles west of 
St Louis, Missouri, to rest from his long and 
tiresome journey. 

“ Wallop, did you sa}^” while he and his 
wife looked earnestly into each other’s faces. 

“Yes sir, that is my name.” 

“ Where is your home?” he inquired. 

“Up to two weeks ago, I resided in south- 
ern Indiana.” 


A BOMANTIG HISTORY. 


107 


‘‘ Are you acquainted with Reuben Pepper ?” 
was the next question. 

“No sir, I am not, but I think I stopped 
with a gentleman by that name. Yes, I think 
his name was Reuben, or at least his wife called 
him by that name,” said Theophilus as he went 
on with the meal. 

]Mr. Grewel and his wife by this time were 
gazing into each other’s faces with great aston- 
ishment, unobserved by Theophilus Avhose 
mind was on a different subject entirely. 

“ \Yhat is your father’s given name? ’’said 
Mrs. Grewel, thinking to relieve her husband 
for the moment. 

“Anthony,” he answered, and for the first 
time noticed that the lady had pushed her plate 
back, and was giving him a look anything but 
complimentary. 

“Are you acquainted with the people in 
southern Indiana?” ventured Theophilus, not 
knowing how else to learn the cause of the 
strange appearance of his questioners. 

“No, I moved from Ohio here,” was Mr. 
Grewel’s reply. He got up from the table and 
went into an adjoining room, where Mrs. 
Grewel followed him, leaving Theophilus to 
finish his supper alone. 

He heard a low and rapid conversation be- 
tween the man and his wife, but could not hear 
but little. 

“He’s the fellow sure, as true as you live,” 
exclaimed the lady. 

“Yes, his own statements convict him,” 
answered her husband. 

Theophilus did not hear the name of the per- 
son referred to as “the fellow” but the conver- 
sation at the table, and the sudden departure 


108 


THE OP HI L US WALL OP. 


of the. parties from the room, had awakened 
his curiosity and a queer feeling which caused 
him to cut his meal short. He too walked into 
the room, and found the couple near the win- 
dow standing up. The lady was holding a pa- 
per in her hand which she dropped upon his 
entrance. 

“ Anything strange or startling in the pa- 
per?” he asked, looking steadily firstat one and 
then at the other. There was no reply to this 
question, but Mr. Grewel somewhat nervously 

handed him the St. Louis , and pointed 

to a marked paragraph, while his good wife 
now pale and trembling took a hurried position 
at the rear of her husband, and acted as though 
there was a live mouse near by. ' 

His eye instantly caught the following : 

“A BOLD AND DAEING THIEF.” 

[Extract from Louisville Courier.] ^ 

, Ind., June — , 1860. 

“ Great excitement now prevails in this here- 
tofore quiet country, on account of the theft 
of $600.00 in gold coin, being taken from Mrs. 
Surrilda Pepper, a lady residing with her hus- 
band, Reuben Pepper, some nine miles south of 
this place. The larceny was committed on 
Tuesday night of last week. It seems that 
Mrs. Pepper had the money hidden between 
two stones in her spring house, not being wil- 
ling to risk it about the dwelling. Late in the 
afternoon of the crime a young man hailing 
from a neighborhood in the southeastern part 
of the county, and heretofore bearing a good 
reputation, called on Mr. Pepper for a night’s 
lodging, and was kindly taken in, the result be- 


A HOjMAJ^TIC IllSTOBY. 


109 

ing that during tlie niglitwlien all were asleep, 
he decamped leaving poor ^Irs. Pepper $600.00 
worse off in worldly goods. She did not miss 
her money, however, until late in the afternoon 
of the next day when a posse of men started in 
search of the villain, l)ut up to the last accounts 
he had given his pursuers the dodge, and had 
struck out for the far west. This young rogue, 
who is not yet eighteen years of age, goes by 
the euphonious name of Theophilus Wallop, son 
of Anthony Wallop, a wealthy farmer, who has 
the sympathy of the community around him. 
It appears that on the morning of the day ot 
the crime, the young reprobate first assaulted 
his brother, and when his father attempted to 
prevent fuilher trouble, he seized a piece of 
timber and struck the old gentleman a murder- 
ous blow on the head, and at once left home for 
the west, making Mrs. Pepper his first victim. 
He will doubtless be indicted by the grand 
jury, and every possible effort made for his 
capture and conviction. ” 

LATER. 

“ It has just been learned through his older 
brother Samuel, that the boy early in life showed 
a tendency to commit various crimes, and es- 
pecially that of theft ; and so worked up over 
the matter is his father, that through the advice 
of friends he has made his will, cutting the 
young scoundrel off from any part of the es- 
tate. ” 

As Theophilus hurriedly glanced down the 
page, and read the account of the crime, and 
saw himself directly charged with its commis- 
sion, a death-like pallor came over his face, and 
the paper quivered as he held it in his trembling 


no 


TlIEOPmL trs IVALLOP. 


hand. He could not trust his own eyes, and 
again read to himself the account of the terrible 
affair . His great excitement increased at each 
perusal, until his frame shook like a leaf. His 
ghastly features and quivering form were stared 
at by the cat-like e3"es of Mr. and Mrs. Grewel 
until they had more than satisfied themselves of 
his guilt. Naturally enough they could see con- 
clusive evidences of villain}^ in each movement, 
or the lack of one, on his part. It was not often 
that these good people had an opportunity to 
feast their e^^es on a genuine outlaw, and they 
watched with eagerness the writhings and con- 
tortions of a conscience-stricken man suddenly 
coniino^ in contact with the knowledge that his 
crime was known to the public. Already the 
good people before him, in the honesty of their 
hearts, had condemiied and consigned him to a 
felon’s cell. It was to them an easy matter in- 
deed, to read guilt in each line and movement 
of his white and death-like face. All the while 
thoughts and emotions were rushing upon the 
young man well calculated to shock and un- 
nerve him. 

On reading his own name in connection with 
the crime, he instantly remembered that the 
date of the crime corresponded with that of the 
night when he stayed at Pepper’s. He also 
remembered that he had left unobserved at 
four o’clock in the morning, and that it was the 
very day of his difficulty at home. It was a 
cruel and unexpected blow and almost froze 
him to the spot. It was some time before he 
was able to utter a single word, and when he 
was able he was not so inclined. He gripped 
the paper as though his hands were made of 


A BOiMAJVTIG HISTORY. 


Ill 


iron, and turning to Mr. Grewel, said in a 
husky voice : “ May I keep this paper?” 

“I — I suppose so,” faltered he, while his 
wife seized him by his arm. 

“I will be obliged to call on you for the 
small amount you owe me,” said Theophilus, 
astonished at the sound of his own voice. 

“Well, I do not mind paying you,” he said 
after some hesitation, “but I am not certain 
but that, under the circumstances, I ought to 
retain the money as well as yourself until an 
officer can take you in charge,” he said, feeling 
it his duty to uphold the laws of his^ountry. 

“I do not recognize your right to detain 
me, nor to withhold what is due me,” said The- 
ophilus excitedly. 

“Very well, I admit that I have no author- 
ity to arrest you.” 

“ Then pay me and I will go,” added The- 
ophilus. At this point Mrs. Grewel whispered 
in her husband’s ear, and that gentleman hav- 
ing handed him two dollars, Theophilus took 
the money without a word and passed out to 
another room in search of a few extra garments 
which he carried with him, when his attention 
was arrested by a man on horseback, to whom 
Mr. Grewel and his wife ran in great haste. 
They held a hasty conversation,^ and the gen- 
tleman having dismounted, the three came back 
to the house just as Theophilus was coming out 
of the door. 

“Mr. Tighthouse,” exclaimed Mr. Grewel 
in an imperious tone, “this young man is an 
Indiana outlaw, and with your assistance, I 
will put him under arrest. ” 

“It is a base falsehood,” said Theophilus, 
excitedly, with the fire of passion and desper- 


112 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


ate rage flashing from his eyes. “You have 
neither the authority nor the power to hold me, 
and I advise you to keep your hands off of me.” 
At this Mrs. Grewel set up a shriek which 
would have attracted the attention of a passer- 
by half a mile distant. 

He observed that Mr. Tighthouse was not 
inclined to molest him, and his last words 
had rendered Mr. Grewel more conservative, 
so he took up his line of march, in a westerly 
course, not failing to glance over his shoulder 
occasionally to see that he was not pursued. 

AYhate^^er effort, if any, Mr. Grewel and his 
neighbors made to overtake him, the event can 
only be conjectured, for he never visited that 
particular neighborhood afterward. It was 
almost night, and his excitement caused by 
Grewel’s attempted arrest did not wear off* un- 
til he was some miles away, when he began to 
analyze his trouble. 

He carried in his pocket the paper which to 
him contained worse than a death-warrant. 
He had left his home proud of his good name 
among those with whom he had been raised. 
It was his ambition to make and retain the 
friendship of the good people he came in con- 
tact with, but every hope seemed blasted, and 
it was a heavy heart indeed which he carried 
as he dragged his weary body along the dark 
and unknown road. But three short weeks 
before, he was the peer of all his associates, 
now he was regarded as a thief and felon. He 
was hundreds of miles from a single acquaint- 
ance, with less than a dozen dollars to his 
name, while he felt that he was to pass his days 
as a fugitive, hunted down as a robber and 
outlaw. 


Jl BOMAJVTIC HISTORY. 


113 


He wondered whether all his old associates 
would believe him guilty, and join in his 
persecution. Ah, there was kind-hearted 
Dick S])ooner, with whcm.he had so often 
talked about earning for himself a great name 
and fortune ; would not he stand up for him 
while he was being l)randed as a thief? No ; 
what could anyone say when evidences were 
all against him ? He did not despair entirely, 
for he knew in his inmost soul, that even if 
his father had disinherited him and placed him 
deeper down in the estimation of the people, 
still that good old mother would plead and 
pray for him as of old, and he sat down be- 
neath the stars where, in spite of his efforts, 
the tears stole dow n his cheeks. 

Again the image of Nellie and his promised 
letter to her of his w herebouts shot across his 
burning brain, and a cold shudder passed over 
him as he lemembered her, and numbered her 
as one among those wdio called him a thief and 
a villain. He could imagine a sadness creep- 
ing over her face as she thought that a felon 
wuis carrying her picture among the highway- 
men of the w^est. Her last kind look and ut- 
terance were fresh in his memory, and pierced 
his soul as he dropped down in the shadow of 
a great oak tree, against the trunk of wddch he 
rested his throbbing head and gazed at the 
glittering stars above him. What course should 
he pursue? How could he ever again meet 
a former acquaintance or associate without 
shrinking from their presence in shame and 
disgrace? Many questions of similar import 
he asked himself, but the thought that he had 
been branded as a thief and outlaw^ both at 
home and abroad, w^ould chill his blood afresh 


114 


THEOPHILUS WALLOP. 


and the great drops of perspiration would 
trickle down his face. Once he determined 
to retrace his steps homeward, with the small 
amout of money he had left, and give himself 
up to the officers of the law, but the thought 
of being placed in prison to await his trial, 
and then consigned to the penitentiary for 
years perhaps, made him abandon the idea, 
and he preferred death itself almost to such a 
condition. 

He, of course, was conscious of his inno- 
cence, but he had no money for defense, nor 
means of proving it, and was not imbued 
with such Puritan ideas, as to believe that an 
all-wise Providence would come to his aid and 
save him from a verdict of the jury, in the 
face of a warped and distorted public opinion. 
His young mind had been convinced that situ- 
ated as he was, neighborhood rumors and sen- 
sational stories were too strong for him to 
overcome. For hours he remained restless 
and undecided, until at last worn out, he 
dropped into an easy sleep, from which he 
awoke as daylight dawned. He was near the 
Missouri River, and at once started up the 
muddy stream, not knowing or caring where 
he might stop. He rushed along at a rapid 
pace, for physical exei-tion gave his troubled 
mind rest. 

A few days of pedestrian effort brought him 
in sight of Jefferson City, with its beautiful 
state buildings resting on the very prominent 
elevation on the south side of the river. Just 
before he reached the outskirts of the city, he 
saw a high stone wall, inclosing several acres 
of stony, broken land ; on top of this wall, a 
sentinel at each corner paced silently back 


A hojMan'tic msTOBY. 


115 


and forth. Inquiring of a laborer, he learned 
that the wall inclosed the penitentiary of the 
state, where many hundreds were inclosed, 
shut off from the sunshine of liberty because 
of crimes committed; while others were there, 
perhaps as innocent victims of unfortunate 
circumstances. 

While he had not determined where he 
would stop, just yet, it was at once settled in 
his mind that Jefferson City would not be his 
future home, and he continued his march up 
the valley of the “ Mad River.” In the mean- 
time, Mr. Grewel, feeling that he himself 
would not be entirely free from guilt, if he 
kept to himself the knowledge that he had 
actually seen and attempted to arrest the ab- 
sconding thief, wrote and mailed to Reuben 
Pepper the folloAving letter : 

St. Charles, Mo., 1860. 
3f?\ Reuben Pepper^ Psq. 

Dear Sir : — I feel it my duty as a good cit- 
izen, Avho desires to see the laAvs of the coun- 
try enforced against crimes and criminals, to 
address you this letter. I recently read an 
account of the theft of your wife’s money, and 
unconsciously, of course, employed the thief 
who remained at my residence but a very short 
time. He was a broad-shouldered man, and 
confessed that his name was Theophilus Wal- 
lop, and a son of Anthony Wallop. I con- 
fronted him Avith the commission of tlie deed, 
and had him read the account of it in the 
presence of my Avife and myself. When he 
had gotten through Avith it, he Avas as pale as 
death, and trembled from head to foot and 


116 


A HOJIAl^TIC mSTOBY. 


began to get ready to leave, placing the paper 
in his pocket. 

Of course, I had no authority to arrest him, 
but one of my neighbors came l^y and we 
thought it our duty to do so, and I so told 
him. 

He looked so villainous at me and defied 
me to touch him, and so frightened my wife, 
that we concluded to let him go, as neither of 
us was armed, so he struck out in a westerly 
direction. He must be a very desperate scoun- 
drel, for I am sure he would have murdered 
me if I had not allowed him to go. He did 
not deny taking the monej^, nor manifest any 
symptom of innocence, Imt every feature 
marked him as a thief, and I hope you may 
3^et be able to capture him, and bring him to 
justice. 

Yours until death, 

E. Grewel. 

This important letter reached Mr. Pepper 
in due time, and that worthy gentleman read it 
over many times and analyzed its contents 
with great pride and pleasure. He had been 
addressed as “ Eeuben Pepper, Esq.” which 
did not escape his attention, and he took 
delight in showing the words to Surrilda. 

It was agreed by them that the letter ought 
to be published at once, for the whole country 
would be aroused and their names become 
famous, and accordingly it was sent to the 
“Louisville Courier” with the request that 
other papers would “please copy.” The let- 
ter made its appearance in a few days, and 
again the confession was on everybody’s lips 
and Theophilus AYallop was again more sav- 
agely than ever placed on the rack of public 


A BOMANTIC HISTOBY. Ill 

opinion. This time it was not only a charge 
of theft, but coupled with it was the state- 
ment that he had confessed to a man in Mis- 
souri that he did tlie deed. 

The letter was read by everybody who could 
get the paper, and those who could not buy one 
borrowed one. Charity McSquint made it her 
especial duty to carry the paper in her bosom, 
and visit her neighbors, and read and dilate 
by the hour on the lack of “ trainin’” Theoph- 
ilus had received, and point to Jerry, with 
motherly pride, as a shining example of her 
own efforts, while Surrilda continued in the 
role of a much injured person. Brother Thorn- 
bush who had first called the letter a “ confes- 
sion,” said that he had expected as much, for 
“the wicked flee when no man pursueth,” and 
so saying, he took his goose-quill pen from be- 
hind his ear and proceeded to complete tlfe 
sermon he was preparing on the text “ Be 
assured your sin will find you out.” 

The sad news had fallen heavily on Mrs. 
Wallop, who could not and would not believe 
her son guilty. But the sad expression of 
her face and deep furrows around her tear- 
stained eyes, told their own story. , 

And during these days of pain and anguish 
Theophilus was slowly plodding his way up 
the river, placing all the distance possible 
between him and the scenes^of his childhood. 
He passed St. Joseph, Mo., where he stopped 
a short while, then made his way to Iowa, 
and there obtained employment and settled 
down for the time being. 


118 


mEOPltlL us ]VALLOl\ 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Jerry Halter did not fail, of course, in 
keeping his engagement with Nellie for Sun- 
day afternoon^ and appeared at her home 
after he had eaten his dinner. It was just at 
the time when the second great excitement 
over the “Wallop confession” was at its 
highest stage, and for fear he might not be 
able to entertain his “ sweetheart ” properly, 
he had equipped himself with the paper con- 
taining the Grewel letter. Jerry was not a 
close observer, else he might have detected at 
once a shade of displeasure in the girl’s face 
upon his first appearance. 

He always assumed that a great importance 
was attached to himself, and his bold nature 
obscured the faculty of close perception. On 
this occasion he marched into the presence of 
the family with a fnmiliarity characteristic of 
his egotistical nature. 

He had concluded that he would at first 
discuss the latest Wallop sensation, and after 
that was out of the way, he would talk love 
to Nellie, and accordingly he asked INlr. Clay- 
born if he had read the “ confession.” 

“ I have read the Grewel letter, if that is 
what you call a ‘ confession.’” 

“ That would seem to remove all doubt of 
his guilt,” said Jerry, fumbling in his pocket 
for the paper. 

“ Not to any unprejudiced mind, I think,” 
said Mr. Clayborn, as he fastened his eyes on 
Halter with such a scrutinizing gaze, that the 
young man inwardly wished he would look 
some other way. 


A BOJfAJVTIC HIS TOUT. 


119 


“ Well” — said he, after some little embarass- 
ment, “ I am not a judge of such matters, but 
everybody seems to be satisfied of his guilt.” 

“ Public opinion is not always a sure guide 
in such matters.” 

‘ ‘ But what about his not denying the 
crime when he was confronted with it,” asked 
Halter. 

“ That might or might not indicate guilt,” 
said Mr. Clayborn. 

“He was trembling and frightened when 
he was charged with the crime,” said Halter, 
pushing the argument. 

‘ ‘ He would have been an unnatural person 
indeed, if he had not been excited on learning 
that he was charged with so grave an offense,” 
continued Mr. Clayborn, watching the effect 
of his answer. 

Halter could not but feel ill at ease, and 
remembering that Samuel had told him not to 
talk too much to the Clayborn’s, he abruptly 
broke off the conversation. 

Nellie had listened to the dialogue on the 
part of Halter and her father with great 
interest, and especially did she note the more 
than ordinary earnestness in her father’s face, 
and her heart fluttered with a faint hope in- 
spired by his words. She liad been greatly 
depressed by the latest information, and was 
wearing a careworn look which had not 
escaped Mr. Clayborn’s notice. She had used 
her utmost endeavor, it is true, to hide her 
feelings and suppress the emotions of her 
young heart when the name of Theophilus was 
mentioned ; but with his experience in life and 
natural tact for discerning matters, he sus- 
pected that a strong attachment existed on the 


120 


THEOPIIIL US WALL OP. 


part of liis daughter for the al)sent young 
man. 

He was, therefore, interested in her welfare 
and happiness, and it was not surprising that 
he entered into the conversation with a degree 
of earnestness which brought the drooping 
spirit of his daughter to life, as water does the 
fading flower. She would have rejoiced if Hal- 
ter had gone away at once, hut she was under 
a promise to entertain him for a while at least, 
and the two walked out to the porch, where 
Jerry commenced a very common every-day 
conversation by appraising her that the 
weather was fine, and the nice season had ar- 
rived when it was delightful to enjoy the 
delicious scent of the new-mown hay, and 
walk beneath the heavy shade of the green 
trees, which were in full dress, and was in the 
act of proposing a stroll in search of flowers, 
when Nellie remarked that she was not feeling 
well and insisted on his being seated where 
they were. 

He sat down near her, and gazed at her 
beautiful form and face, while her eyes were 
fixed on an object in the distance.'* 

“I hope you are not feeling badly on 
account of Mrs. Wallop yet, a^e you?” he 
finally said. 

“She deserves sympathy,” said Nellie Ian- 
guidly. 

“ So she does, but it does no good to go 
into mourning over her troubles.” 

“ I am real sorry for her,” said Nellie. 

“ You are too young to commence fretting 
your life away over other people’s misfor- 
tunes,” he suggested. 

“I am not fretting, but fh^re is so much 


A liOMAJVTia HISTORY. 


121 


mystery about the affair that I cannot help 
thinkinir about it,” said Nellie. 

“ Can’t you think of something more seri- 
ous for your own interest?” 

“ I know^ of nothing more so,” she replied. 

“ But would you not like to have a good 
home of your own ? ” 

“ Thank you, I am very comfortable where 
I am.” 

“Well, Nellie, I have felt — I have had a 
very deep feeling, I might say that — that — ” 

“AVell you need not- feel that way any 
more,” she replied, as she arose and hurried 
for his hat and handed it to him, which he 
took in his somewhat nervous hand. She 
expressed the hope that he would feel better 
in the future, and with the words “good 
evening,” Jerry Halter was left in the most 
awkward predicament of his life, while Nellie 
disappeared through the house. 

The hot l)lood rushed to his face as he took 
his departure, feeling that he had indeed 
“ gotten the mitten.” He reached the gate 
without looking back or raising his eyes from 
the path he was treading. 

“Hello there, Jerry, what’s your hurry?” 
said Dick Spooner, coming toward the gate, 
only a few feet away. 

“It is none of your business,” said Halter 
angrily. 

“ Certainly not, but I thought you were 
engaged for this afternoon.” 

“What’s that to you?” he said, as he 
brushed past Dick hurriedlv. 

“ Oh, nothing, only if you are going away 
1 believe 1 will stop a wdiile.” 

“ Dick Spooner, if it were not Sunday and 


124 


TTIEOPHIL US WALLOP. 


“ St. Joseph, Mo., Jul}', — 1860. 

“Miss Clayborn : — (for I dare not call 
you else while a criminal charge stands 
against me) I inclose you an account of the 
stealing of Mrs. Pepper’s money, in which I 
am denounced in cruel terms as the thief. As 
I will sometime render an account to a court 
higher and })urer than any on earth, I can 
truthfully say that I am not guilty in any way 
whatever. Will write you again if ever I 
emerge from the shadow of my great sorrow. 
In the meantime will pray an all-wise Provi- 
dence that justice may overtake the true crimi- 
nal. 

“ Your AYell-wisher, 

“Theophilus lY allop.” 

She read and re-read the short and pointed 
letter, and as the hot burning tears stole 
down her cheeks, she thanked heaven for his 
explicit denial of the crime and awful charge. 
She had not failed to note the delicate man- 
ner in which he addressed her, for she rea- 
soned that his manly heart would not allow 
him to call her “friend” while the stigma of 
thief rested against him. His appeal to a 
higher than an earthly court in declaring his 
innocence, and his resolution of prayer to the 
Most High that justice might overtake the 
perpetrator of the crime, had melted her soul, 
and in the midst of her anguish for his misfor- 
tune, she rejoiced that her love, now ardent 
and deep, belonged to one so noble. 

She lingered long over the letter, forgeting 
that she had left Dick alone, and suddenly 
remembering the fact, she ^et to wnrk to ef- 
face the evidence of tears in her eyes, but as 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


125 


usual in such cases, slie did not succeed, and 
on her return to the room, Dick remarked : 

“ I’ll het that was a love-letter, Nellie.” 

“Oh! you must think I am in love with 
eveiybody,” said she, her face flushing up. 

“No I don’t, for if I did I would come in 
for a share.” 

“Dick, you know I like 3^ou.” 

“I am afraid you don’t shed any tears over 
me,” said he, laughing. 

“ How could anyone shed tears over you, 
wdien you are always laughing?” 

“They might laugh until they cried at 
least.” 

“Maybe I’ll try that some day when j^our 
mustache matures,” she said playfully. 

“ There now ; I will quit, if you will,” said 
he, laughing, and going through the motion of 
curling a supposed growth on liis upper lip. 

“I reckon you wouldn’t let a fellow read 
that letter would you?” inquired Dick with 
some anxiet3^ 

“Yes, I will, if you w^on’t tease me about it.” 

“ Upon my honor, I won’t,” he said, as she 
handed him the letter. 

Dick read it carefully, and was evidently 
pleased with the contents, for he slapped his 
hands on his knees, and exclaimed : “Its just 
like him; he don’t say much, but he sa3^s it 
strongly, and I would bet 1113^ life that he is 
heard from again.” 

“Why so, Dick?” 

“Because I have alwa^^s h^d faith in his 
honesty, and this is just such a letter as an 
innocent person would write.” Just then Mr. 
Clayborn stepped into the room, and shaking 
hands with Dick, as was his custom with 


124 


m^OPIIIL US WALLOP. 


“ St. Joseph, Mo., Jul}', — 1860 . 

“Miss Clayborn : — (for I dure not call 
you else while a criminal charge stands 
against me) I inclose you an account of the 
stealing of Mrs. Pepper’s money, in which I 
am denounced in cruel terms as the thief. As 
I will sometime render an account to a court 
higher and purer than any on earth, I can 
truthfully say that I am not guilty in any way 
whatever. Will write you again if ever I 
emerge from the shadow of my great sorrow. 
In the meantime will pray an all-wise Provi- 
dence that justice may overtake the true crimi- 
nal. 

“ Your 'Well-wisher, 

“Theophilus "VY allop.” 

She read and re-read the short and pointed 
letter, and as the hot burning tears stole 
down her cheeks, she thanked heaven for his 
explicit denial of the crime and awful charge. 
She had not failed to note the delicate man- 
ner in which he addressed her, for she rea- 
soned that his manly heart would not allow 
him to call her “ friend” while the stigma of 
thief rested against him. His appeal to a 
higher than an earthly court in declaring his 
innocence, and his resolution of prayer to the 
Most High that justice might overtake the 
perpetrator of the crime, had melted her soul, 
and in the midst of her anguish for his misfor- 
tune, she rejoiced that her love, now ardent 
and deep, belonged to one so noble. 

She lingered long over the letter, forgeting 
that she had left Dick alone, and suddenly 
remembering the fact, she ^et to work io ef- 
face the evidence of tears in her eyes, but as 


TIIEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


125 


usual in such cases, slie did not succeed, and 
on her return to the room, Dick remarked : 

“ I’ll bet that was a love-letter, Nellie.” 

“Oh! you must think I am in love with 
eveiybody,” said slie, her face flushing up. 

“No I don’t, for if I did I would come in 
for a share.” 

“Dick, you know I like you.” 

“I am afraid you don’t shed any tears over 
me,” said he, laughing. 

“ How could anyone shed tears over you, 
when you are alwa^^s laughing?” 

“They might laugh until they cried at 
least.” 

“Maybe I’ll try that some day when your 
mustache matures,” she said playfully. 

“ There now ; I will quit, if you will,” said 
he, laughing, and going through the motion of 
curling a supposed growth on his upper lip. 

“I reckon you wouldn’t let a fellow read 
that letter would you?” inquired Dick with 
some anxiety. 

“Yes, I will, if you w^on’t tease me about it.” 

“ Upon my honor, I won’t,” he said, as she 
handed him the letter. 

Dick read it carefully, and was evidently 
pleased with the contents, for he slapped his 
hands on his knees, and exclaimed : “Its just 
like him; he don’t say much, but he says it 
strongly, and I would bet 1113^ life that he is 
heard from airain.” 

“Why so,"Dick?” 

“Because I have alwa3"s had faith in his 
honesty, and this is just such a letter as an 
innocent person would w'rite.” Just then Mr. 
Clayborn stepped into the room, and shaking 
hands with Dick, as was his custom with 


126 


mEOPTIILUS WALLOP. 


everyone, and seeing the letter in Dick’s 
hand, asked what was the latest news. 

Dick was a little taken back and hesitated, 
but Nellie sunimoned a little extra courage 
and said : 

“Father, I have received a letter from The- 
ophilus, whieh you may read if you like,” and 
she took it from Dick’s hand and gave it to 
him. 

He placed his spectacles on his eyes and 
read the letter to himself, while the two 
watched his features closely. When he had 
finished it, he glanced at Dick good hu- 
moredly and said : 

‘ ‘ He does not make a ‘ confession ’ does 
he?” 

“ Indeed he does not,” answered Dick. 

‘ ‘ What do you think of the letter ? ” in- 
quired his daughter. 

“I am favorably impressed with tlie language 
and tone of it, Nellie,” he said kindly. 

“ Wonder what Mrs. McSquint would say_ 
of it,” interposed Dick. 

“ She would certainly have her opinion,” 
said Mr. Clay born. 

“ And she would express it,” said Nellie, 
smiling. 

“Time,” said Mr. Clayborn, “is the great 
leveler of events, and it will in all probability 
clear up this mystery, and point out to a cer- 
tainty the party or parties connected with the 
larceny.” 

So saying he left Dick and Nellie to them- 
selves. It was getting late, however, and 
Dick made ready to leave, for he was feeling 
encouraged and determined to do some work 
during the coming week. 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


127 


‘‘ Good-1>ye, Nellie, I am going to pry 
around some this week and see if I can learn 
something.” 

“ AYhat new plan have you, and where are 
you going?” 

“I shall go to the ‘Pepper neighborhood,’ 
and possibly get a straw or two,” so saying 
he left. 

He did go there, for it was that week he 
visited Mrs. Latemeal, and learned of the 
horse with the three white feet which had 
gone both east and west on the night of the 
larceny, and wound up his week’s work with 
the incident at Mr. Wallop’s, when he se- 
cured yellow root to cure his “ sore mouth.” 

Nellie w’as more cheerful, and the next 
week she attended to her household duties with 
more alacrity than usual, but she could give 
no reason for it, for after all it was to be a 
long time, perhaps, before she received another 
letter from her now acknowledged-to-herself- 
at-least, “ sweetheart.” But at the close of 
the next week, when Dick returned and in- 
formed her of his discoveries, she was fully 
satisfied of the innocence of Theophilus, and 
the guilt of others, one at least, and somehow, 
she could not help feeling a chilly sensation 
when she thought of Jeriy Halter. Dick did 
not remain long on this visit, for he felt, as he 
said, that the “trail was getting warmer.” 

Again on the following Monday he visited 
Mrs. AYallop, this time for the purpose of 
asceidaining whether she had heard from The- 
ophilus, and on his arrival found her alone as 
usual. She was dusting the furniture of the 
best room, and greeted him with a friendly 
smile that made him feel comfortable, and he 


128 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


noticed a brightness in her usually sad face 
which led him to think that she had gotten 
news of some kind, not unpleasant at least. 

“You area good boy, Dick, to come and 
see me,” she said, as she grasped his hand and 
looked smilingly into his face. 

“ Yes, I like to come over once in a while, 
for you know Theophilus and I were like 
brothers.” 

“ Take a chair, and I will show you a letter 
from Theophilus,” and she went to a stand 
table near by, and opening the family Bible, 
brought forth an envelope containing the let- 
ter which he read, and as we cannot do jus- 
tice to it by description, we think the reader 
should have the benefit of an exact copy of it, 
except dates, which is as follows ; 

“ St. Joseph Mo., July, — 1860. 

“Dear Mother: — I cannot delay writing 
you an account of existing circumstances, 
for I know the horrible charge against me has 
broken you heart. Mother, as God is my 
judge, I am as innocent of stealing Surrilda 
Pepper’s money as a unborn babe, but 1 did 
stay all night at her husband’s house, the 
night of the crime. It was late when 1 got 
there, and I left the house at dajTweak in the 
morning, getting my breakfast about three 
miles west with a gentleman whose name I 
did not learn. I traveled on foot for many 
days, and only learned that I was accused of 
the crime near St. Charles, in this state, 
from a paper a Mr. Grewel had in his posses- 
sion. I ought to have written you sooner, 
but I was so unnerved, shocked, and distresed, 
that I could do nothing but move on, to I 


A 2W2^A^^TIC lllSTOllY. 


m 


know not where, for when you get this letter I 
will l)e farther away. My father’s will does not. 
distress me, yet I feel that some other hand 
should have stricken the last and hardest blow. 
You well know that I did not strike, or other- 
wise mistreat my father, when I left home nor 
at any other time. The cause of my leaving 
is not entirely unknown to you, for man}^ 
times do I remember of your pleading in my 
behalf when being mistreated. 

“ The home of my birth and of my childhood 
had grown to nre to be a dark and gloomy spot 
with no attractions except 3^0111* kind words. I 
longed for a home and place of abode where 
gentle smiles and kind words, instead of a 
brutal instrument of punishment, would meet 
me at the door ; but what will be my fate, my 
Creator only knows. 

“Mother, do not, I beg of you, worry on my 
account, for I have a little hope that I may 
rise yet from beneath this load of torturing 
disgrace, and be able to repa}^ meas- 

ure, for a mother’s kindness. Say to father, 
that I send him m}^ kindest regards, with the 
hope that he may not regard me as a criminal, 
and that he may live long and be convinced 
that I am a better boy than present surround- 
ings indicate. In conclusion I promise you 
again, as I have a hundred times before when 
I knelt at your feet, that I will remain honest, 
and no temptation shnll lead me into the paths 
of wickedness and crime. 

“ God bless you, mother, and good-b3^e, 

“ Theophilus.” 


130 


THJEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


o'azed out of the window, while poor Mrs. 
Wallop rocked to and fro, keeping hack as 
best she could her feelings mingled with pity 
and love for her persecuted hoy. 

‘‘What does Mr. Wallop think and say of 
this letter?” said Dick, after some time had 
elapsed. 

“I do not know what he thinks, for you 
know he does not talk much, hut he has been 
restless every night since it came,” said Mrs. 
Wallop, wiping her eyes. 

‘ ‘ What does Samuel say of it ? ” was the 
next query. 

“ He knows I have it, hut he has never 
seen it or heard it read, to my knowledge.” • 

“That is strange,” he said, remembering 
that no mention had been made of Samuel in 
the letter. 

“No it isn’t strange, if you knew him, for 
he never mentions his name, or hears it men- 
tioned, without abusing him.” 

“He yet feels badly towards Theophilus, be- 
cause of their trouble when he left, I sup- 
pose.” 

“They never did get along like brothers 
should,” she answered. 

“ And that was the real cause of his leav- 
ing?” ’ 

“Nothing else,* except the trouble that day^- 

“Who first told you, Mrs. Wallop, that 
Theophilus was accused of the crime?” 

“I believe it was Brother Thornbush, a few 
days after he left.” 

“Did he say where he got his informa- 
tion ? ” 

“I think he said Samuel had heard it 
somewhere.” 


A liOMAJ^7'IC HISTOBT. 


131 


“lYas that at the time when the will was 
made ? ” 

it was a day or so before.” 

‘ ‘ I suppose 3^011 were satisfied with the mak- 
ing of the will ? ” 

“ No, I did not want my husband to make 
the will, for I did not believe the story.” 

“ AYlio wrote it ? ” 

“ Brother Thornbush.” 

“ And he is the custodian, I suppose?” 

“Yes. It was through his etforts and ad- 
vice that it was made, and Mr. AYallop has 
great confidence in him, so had him keep it.” 

Dick was now about to leave, but his ques- 
tions had aroused Mrs. ^Yallop’s curiosity 
somewhat, and before he left she asked : 

“What do you think of this afiair any- 
way?” 

“I do not think Theophilus is guilty,” was 
his prompt reply. 

“ Who do you think did it, Dick?” This 
was a pointed question, and for a little while 
puzzled him, but he said : “You must excuse 
me, but I can’t answer that at present,” and 
he went away, wondering how much grief a 
mother could undergo on account of her chil- 
dren ; while she resumed lier duties, waiting 
and watchins: over the interests of her husband 
and son who were at home, and praying for 
the a])sent one. Time rolled on, and the 
hours and daj^s dragged their weary lengths 
alono^ while the o:ood mother and wife toiled 
from daylight until dark, in her efforts to 
make those around her comfortable and 
happy, with lier heart overflowing with love 
and pity for her wandering boy. 

Yet other scenes and darker days were be- 


132 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


fore her, which she met and passed with that 
fortitude and endurance allotted to a devoted 
and Christian woman. 

CHAPTEE Xiy. 

It was not until near the middle of Septem- 
ber following' the incidents herein recorded, 
that Mrs. McSquint could find the time to visit 
her sister. This fact grieved her very much, 
for she had learned many things which she had 
stored away in her memory that ought to he 
known to Surrilda. She had arrived, however, 
and all the program of her reception had been 
gone through with, and the health of each one 
of the family reported to her entire satisfaction. 
Even Eeul)en’s lame back was decidedly im- 
proved by the use of juices and roots, in accor- 
dance with a prescription left by her on a for- 
mer visit. There had been no particular change 
in the furniture, either more or less, not even 
a change of location, except that after the loss 
of the money Eeuben had procured an old 
musket, which had done service in the revolu- 
tionary war, and placed it over the head of the 
l)ed in which he and his wife passed their hours 
of repose. It was not an innocent looking 
weapon, for there was a hole in the muzzle 
Avhich would admit a man’s thumb ; besides, it 
had attached to it a “ flint lock,” which reared 
l)ack like an Indian tomahawk, holding the 
flint savagely in its jaws. It would have at- 
tracted the attention of most anyone, but Char- 
ity in particular, for she was a close observer 
of any changes or additions made in articles of 
household goods of those whom she visited. 

She looked at this accession of surplus prop- 


A JROJfAJVTIC HISTORY. 


133 


erty for some moments, and was noting its 
marked resemblance to a gim, when she placed 
her bonnet some three inches back on her head, 
and in a voice of great astonishment said : 

“ Siirrilda, what is that horrid thing over 
your bed ? ” 

“ It is a musket or ‘ Yauger ’ some call it,” 
said her sister. 

“ AYhat is it for ? ” 

“ Ileul)en had me get it for him after my 
money was stolen to shoot robbers and burg- 
lars with.” 

“ You don’t say so ! ” and she looked around 
as though there was a skeleton or two near b}^ 
“He has never used it, has he?” continued 
Mrs. McSquint. 

“ \Yell, yes, twice we heard something mak- 
ing a noise down towards the barn, and he 
shot to scare it away ; but he don’t like it much, 
I think, for the last time he shot it hurt his 
back.” 

“ He did not shoot himself with it, did he?” 

“ No, no — ‘ It kind of went off at both ends 
like,’ Reuben said, when he came back to the 
house.” 

“ No, it did not do any such thing,” exclaimed 
Reuben, who had been putting in his time, near 
the door, shaving out the material for a cross- 
bow for little Bob. 

“ You ought to ])e mighty keerful with your- 
self when handling weepons like that, for I 
know what it is to be left a ‘ lone widder,’ ” said 
his sister-in-law. 

This was a very flattering remark to Reuben, 
for he inwardly felt tliat Surrilda would indeed 
be helph^ss if he sliould suddenly be taken oflf 
at the muzzle of the “ Yauger.” 


THEOPHIL US WA LLOP. 


13A 

“ It did not shoot at both ends, I think, but 
it acted veiy strange. I had heard something, 
I am easily waked since our misfortune, and 
got up and walked around the corner of the 
liouse and saw something creeping up to the 
barn. Now, lam not a man to be fooled with, 
as everybody knows, and I just pulled l)ack and 
let drive, and when I came to I was laying on 
my back looking at the stars in the canopy.” 

“Reckon you missed the man ?” said Charity. 

“ Missed him ! lYell, there has l)een nobody 
sneaking around here since,” said Reuben, nod- 
ding his head. 

“No, but our old cow has been lame ever 
since,” said little Bob, grinning significantly. 
This was an unfortunate interference on the 
pai-t of the boy, who, if he had thought, would 
have known better than to speak up when his 
father was talking, for it always annoyed him, 
and was not in keei)ing with the training he 
had given his son. 

He was much irritated at the boy’s behavior, 
and began hastily to look around for a suitable 
instrument with which to impress him with 
better manners. To those who have had expe- 
rience in such matters it is said that it is al- 
most impossible to succeed in readily obtain- 
ing such a thing while the fever of passion is 
the highest ; and so it w^as with Reuben ; but 
he was not a man to be fooled with, and he suc- 
ceeded in getting hold of a piece of split board, 
and made for Bob, who at once struck around 
the house as fast as his legs would carry him, 
with his father in close pursuit. They had 
made a circuit of the house once and were pass- 
ing the door, when Mrs. Pepper flew out of the 
house like a mad hen, and seizing her husband 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


135 


by the arm, in a voice that awakened the ech- 
oes, exclaimed : 

“ Eenben Pepper, you strike that child of 
mine Avith a board if you dare ! ” and she put 
her fist up close to his face. 

Mr. Pepper had stopped short at the first 
sound of her voice, and relapsed into a condi- 
tion of innocuous desuetude. lie did not speak, 
for it Avas all he could do to get his breath after 
his unusual exercise. lie dropped his weapon 
and slowly marched away to the road fence and 
took his seat on the top rail, Avhere he spent the 
next hour or two in AAdiittling and thinking hoAV 
hard it was for a good man to raise a child 
properly ; while Mrs. Pepper led little Bob into 
the house to his aunt, who had witnessed the 
little family episode Av^ith interest. 

“ Surrilda, you will be the ruin of that child 
as sure as you are born.” 

“ Well he shan’t l)e beaten aa ith a clapboard, 
while I live,” said Surrilda, in a flutter of ex- 
citement. 

“ No, I Avill agree that it is better to have a 
switch ready always, but Avhen you can’t get 
one then you must pick up the first thing you 
see.” 

“ My children are about as good as those 
who are beat to death all the time, ” she re- 
sponded. 

“Why, Surrilda, don’t you read the Scripter, 
and han’t you heard Brother Thornbush preach 
and ‘ resort ’ on sparin’ the rod and spilin’ the 
child?” 

“ Yes, but there is a difference betAA^een a rod 
and a clapboard.” 

“It’s all the same in meanin’, and it A^as 
nothin’ else that sent Theophilus Wallop to the 


136 


THEOPHILUS WALLOP. 


bad than his mother interferin’ when his father 
was correctin’ him,” said Charity, despond- 
ingly. 

“ It may do to beat and pound real bad boys, 
but my children are good, and I can’t bear to 
see them punished,” said Surrilda, who felt un- 
able to meet the stern logic of her sister. 

“ Isn’t it too bad about that Nell Clayborn ? ” 
inquired Charity, satisfied that she had lectured 
her sister sufficiently as to her own household. 

“ What now? I haven’t heard.” 

“ Then it is because you do not live in my 
neighborhood.” 

“ What has she done? Do tell me.” 

“ Wh}^, she is engaged to the thief who took 
your money, and would go to him and marry 
him if it were not for her father.” 

“ Well, if that isn’t awful, and Mr. Clayborn 
such a nice man ! ” said Surrilda, as she took 
her hands out of the dough which she was 
working. 

“ Well, it must be so, for I fjot it straight.” 

“Who told you?” 

“ Clarissy Cutright told me that the post- 
master said they had been correspondin’ some 
time, but it is talked all over our neighbor- 
hood.” 

“ Does her father know about it for sure?” 

“ Of course he does, that is, that they were 
engaged, for he admitted that the fellow got 
dinner at his house the day he went away.” 

“ Well, well ! Avhat is the country coming to ? 
I can’t have confidence in anyone in this day, 
it seems,” said Mrs. Pepper. 

“ You can’t tell who is honest, and there is 
no doubt that the girl knows all about your 
money,” said Charity. 


A JtOMAJVTIC m STORY. 


137 


‘ ‘ W ould anybody have thought it ? ” said 
Surrilda. 

“ I used to think so much of the Clayhorn’s, 
but what I have hearn lately has spilt ’em with 
me,” said Mrs. McSquint, with her hand against 
her jaw. 

“ I thought she looked sneaking the day of 
the out-door meeting,” said Surrilda, reliect- 
iyely. 

“Bless goodness! Jerry has quit going 
there, for I got suspicious once that he actu- 
ally liked the gal, but he won’t speak to her 
now ; no, indeed he Avon’t.” 

“Because he thinks that she knows more 
than she will tell about my money,” chimed in 
Mrs. Pepper. 

“ That’s the whole cause of it, for he went 
to see the postmaster himself, to learn if the 
scoundrel was actually Avritin’ to her, and sure 
enough, he AA^as.” 

And with these broad statements, conject- 
ures, and insinuations. Charity branched off 
into many side issues, and unloaded her mind 
of many little things not necessary to mention. 
Dinner Avas ready, and it took but little coax- 
ing to bring Keuben doAvn from his perch, who, 
though a little poutish, did full justice to a 
plate of boiled cabbage and bacon, and all was 
serene again, but no further mention was made 
of the “ Yauger.” 

Mrs. McSquint did not remain long in the 
afternoon, for it was a long Avay home and Jerry 
was alone, and the “ Iwindle” coav was so bad 
to kick that she was afraid he could not man- 
age her. 

She mounted “ stockin’” John and hurried 
back home, Avhere she arrived a])out sunset. 


1S8 


TIIEOPIIIL US \VA LL OP. 


This was her last mission in sowing broadcast 
the latest complication of the crime, for she 
had visited those of her immediate neigldjor- 
hood, and upon the simple fact that a letter in 
the handwriting of Theophilushad been received 
by Miss Clay born, and that Jerry had suddenly 
changed his good opinion of her, she had un- 
hesitatingly charged her with a guilty knowl- 
edge of the crime. And while she was on her 
^vay to visit her sister in the morning, Clar- 
issy Outright, heretofore mentioned, had left 
her dishes unwashed and hurried a mile and a 
half to Mr. Clayborn’s, where, quivering with 
excitement, she proceeded to unbosom herself 
of some “ talk” that was going the rounds of 
the neighborhood to Nellie. 

“ How are you. Miss Clayborn?” she said, 
on entering the door. 

“ Very well, thank you; how are you and 
your folks? Take off your bonnet, Mrs. Cut- 
right, while I call auntie. 

“ No, no ! ” she exclaimed. “ I just want to 
see you this morning, and I came in a hurry 
and left my work all undone, with no one with 
the children,” she said, almost out of breath. 

“ AYhat is it? Mrs. Cutright, you look ex- 
cited.” 

“ Nellie, you know I have always been your 
friend, as well as that of your family.” 

“ Certainly; what can I do for you?” said 
Nellie, growing anxious. 

“Oh, it is no favor I want, but it is for 
your good I came.” 

“What is wrong?” inquired Nellie, and the 
blood left her face. 

“It is some bad talk you ought to know 
about.” 


139 


A BOMANTIC HISTOBY. 

“ Please tell me at once,” said the excited 

gii-i. 

“I knew it was not true when I heard it, and 
I could not rest until I had seen you and told 
you what some people are saying ; now don't 
get nervous.” 

“ But you make me nervous by delay.” 

“ Well, then, the talk is about you and The- 
ophilus AYallop.” 

“ Can’t you be more definite?” said Nellie, 
trembling. 

“ Of course, I will tell you every word just 
as I heard it witli my own ears, for when I re- 
peat a thing it must be exactly word for word, 
and I was very careful to charge my memory, 
so that if it is disputed I can face them down 
in the matter.” 

“Now, who has been talking about me? 
What did they say ? ” begged Nellie, almost out 
of patience. 

“ Charity McSquint, the old busybody, is 
the very one who told it to me, and I believe 
if you knew her as well as I do that you 
would not be so badly frightened.” 

“ You have told me who used the talk, but 
you have not told me a word that was said,” 
answered Nellie, in a tone of exhaustion. 

“ She, Charity McSquint, at the gate right 
in front of my house, not over one hour ago, 
in the presence of my children, while she was 
sitting on her old “ stockin’” horse, on her 
road to Surrilda Pepper’s and just before she 
left, said that you knew all a])out Theophilus 
Wallop stealing her sister’s money, and that 
you and him were engaged to be married be- 
fore he left ; now you hear it, and just as she 
said it, too. And that is not all, for she said 


140 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


that Jerry Halter told her he would prove it 
on you when the trial was had in court/’ 

Nellie did not scream or faint, as Mrs. Cut- 
right had feared at the time, but there Avas a 
feeling of deep grief and wounded pride man- 
ifest in her pale face and dark, piercing eyes. 
She arose from her seat, and extending her lit- 
tle hand to her informer, said : 

“I thank you for the information; auntie 
will be here in a moment, and I must ask you 
to excuse me,” and so saying, she passed hur- 
riedly out of the room and Mrs. Outright saw 
nothing more of her, for after a few words with 
Auntie Clayborn, she went back home to her 
dishes and children. Nellie, after speaking to 
her aunt, had made haste to the field where her 
father and Joe were engaged about a fence. 

She lost no time in giving to them both the 
details of Mrs. Cutright’s story. Mr. Clayborn 
was never easily excited, but there was a deep 
shadow over his face, while Joe’s eyes and 
mouth twitched convulsively, though the latter 
did not utter a word. 

“ Go to the house, dear, and the matter shall 
be righted,” said Mr. Clayborn ; and as she 
started back, for the first time after hearing the 
dreadful news she’ burst into tears and wept 
as if her heart was broken, and only stopped 
wdien she had produced a bad case of headache. 
Mr. Clayborn and his son quit work; Joe 
went directly to the barn and Mr. Clayborn 
went to the house. Neither had spoken a word 
after Nellie had left them. Mr. Clayborn had 
just taken a seat, while his daughter was sob- 
bing on the sofa, when Auntie Clayborn thus 
said to him : 

“ Where is Joe going? ” And looking up, he 


A liOJIANTlC HlSTORT, 


141 


saw his son going out at the front gate with no 
extra clothing on except his vest. “ Call him 
back, for he is excited,” continued auntie to 
h6r brother, for* she had been made acquainted 
with the trouble. 

“ Xo, sister, I do not know where he is go- 
ing, but I think I will let Joseph alone.” With 
this remark, he got up and walked backward 
and forward across the floor, repeating his 
own language, “I will let Joseph alone.” He 
reflected to himself that he was one of the old- 
est settlers in tliat part of the country, that he 
had provided a good home for his sister and 
his children, avIio were nearer and dearer to 
him than all else. He had not, it is true, ruled 
his family with an iron hand, but his son and 
daughter were contented and happy with him, 
if unmolested, and if his son had gathered the 
idea from his training, or by inheritance or 
instinct, that it was his duty to protect his sis- 
ter’s rights and good name from scurrilous at- 
tacks, he would let him alone. Thus he med- 
itated until he became, in a measure, himself 
again. But it would be a great mistake to 
suppose that he did not contemplate redress in 
the matter. 

Joseph Clay born was a muscular, well-built 
young man of medium height and twenty years 
of age. He was unusually good-natured, and 
possessed his father’s genial qualities. No one 
in the country was more popular or freer from 
difficulties. He and Nellie had been devoted 
to each other from their inflxncy, and no human 
being, to his knowledge, had been brutal 
enough to utter a word against her good name. 

When listening to the charges brought 
against her by Halter, who had so often enjoyed 


142 


TimOPlllL ITS WALLOP. 


the hospitalities of his father’s house, he detel‘- 
mined to protect her as best lie could, and it 
was with this purpose in view that he had sad- 
dled a horse, and set out to hunt Halter and 
have a satisfactory retraction or explanatifin 
from him at once. He rode to the house of 
Mrs. McSquint, hut Halter was not there, so 
he turned in the direction of Mr. M'^allop’s faim, 
and was within a short distance of the house 
when he met that young man in company with 
Samuel Wallop. He at once dismounted, and 
throwing the reins over one corner of the fence, 
walked forward some distance, until they met. 

“ Halter,” said Joe, “ I wish an explanation 
from you.” 

“ What is it?” asked Halter. 

‘ ‘ I hear that you charge my sister of having 
some knowledge of the theft of Mrs. Pepper’s 
money.” 

“ What of it, sir, if I did?” 

“You will wish you had not before I get 
through with you,” and instantly dealt him a 
blow in the face, and the two young men went 
at each other like tigers. Jerry was the larger 
of the two, and had he been quick and active 
he might have fared better, for he possessed 
superior strength. But it was evident from 
the beginning that Joe was terribly in earnest, 
and his blows fell thick and fast until Halter, 
early in the fight, was forced to the defensive. 
The blood was already streaming from his face 
and nose, while Samuel was shouting “ mur- 
der ” at the top of his voice. 

Jerry finally grasped Joe’s hand, and was in 
the act of getting his fingers in his mouth, but 
in so doing he left the way clear to his face, 
and he received a blow which sent him to the 


A llOMAJ^Tia HISTORY. 


143 


ground with his jinhigonist on top of him, and 
again his face and eyes suffered a terrible 
bruising. Halter Avas now at a disadvantage, 
and called for Samuel to assist him, but his 
bosom friend had leaped the fence, and with 
his hair wildly floating in the air was making 
across the field homeward, at great speed, yell- 
ing for help most piteously. Ilis cries Avere 
not in vain, for they brought Dick from his 
hiding-place in the bushes some distance aAvay, 
Avh^e he had secreted himself to Avatch the 
movements of the two Avhen they left the 
house. He arrived at the scene in time to hear 
Halter, noAV Aveak and exhausted, begging for 
his life and retracting his language toAvard Miss 
Clayborn, Avhile Joe Avas bending over him, 
panting like an ox in fly-time, Avith a firm grip 
on his throat. 

On seeing Dick, Joe released his victim, and 
going some distance away, lay doAvn in the 
shade, Avhile Dick removed Halter from be- 
neath the rays of the sun to where he could 
get cooler air, of which he stood in great need. 
Samuel soon returned accompanied by his fa- 
ther, but they both stop[)ed before reaching the 
spot and only came up Avhen assured there was 
no danger. Even then Samuel hesitated and 
hung back, pale and trembling. 

“ What does all this mean?” inquired Mr. 
Wallop. 

“ It means that that dirty dog lying there 
has grossly slandered my sister, and paid a 
part of the penalty,” said eJoe, as he rose to 
his feet. This was the first that Dick knew of 
the cause of the fight, and he was ready to give 
Joe his hand as a token of his approval. 

The tAvo young men took the nearest road 


144 


Til EOF II IL US WA LLOP. 


back to ]Mr. Clayboni’s while Jerry was left in 
the keeping of Samuel and his father. Dick 
thought it was best for him to accompany Joe 
home and explain the matter to the famil}^ 
which he did while Joe was changing clothes, 
and examining a few bruised spots on his now 
calm face. 

“ Well, Nellie, I don’t think you will suffer 
much from Halter’s tongue in the future.” 

“ I hope not,” said the girl, sadly. 

“ He isn’t so handsome as when you sifW him 
last,” he said. 

“ Don’t joke about it, for it is too serious a 
matter,” she said. 

“Oh, he is not hurt much, but he knows 
more than he did,” said Dick, as he burst out 
laughing. 

“ You are hard-hearted, surely.” 

“ No, I am selfish ; for if it had not been for 
Joe, he would have pounded me u}) some day, 
and given my mustache a set-back,” which re- 
mark forced Nellie to laugh, the very thing 
Dick wanted to see. 

Mr. Clayborn’s only remark was that he 
hoped this would end the troul)le. And so it 
did, for the present, at least. 

Jerry was soon able to get up and walk, and 
sullenly went to his home accompanied by his 
companion, where the two dressed his bleeding 
face and bruises as best they could. 

“ I told you not to talk too much,” said Sam- 
uel. 

“ I will get even some day,” said Jerry, sul- 
lenly. 

“ A still tongue for a wise head,” suggested 
shrewd Samuel as he took his departure, leav- 
ing his friend to wear out his wrath and wres- 


A JIOM ANTIC HISTORY. 


145 


tie with his humiliation alone. He was greatly 
excited after his friend left him, and passed his 
time mostly in hed, from which he would occa- 
sionally arise and examine his swollen face and 
bloodshot eyes and indulge in threats of ven- 
geance, as he realized that it would be many 
days before he would be fit to enter society. 

The swelling in his face grew to large pro- 
portions by evening, and when Charity alighted 
from “ stockin’” John one of his eyes was en- 
tirely closed, while the other had barely room 
to take in the light. 

“ Goodness alive ! ” screamed Mrs. McSquint. 
“ I told you, Jerry, to be careful of ‘ old brin- 
dle ’ when you milked her,” she said, as she 
discovered the only object of her affections 
lying on the bed. 

Jerry made no response except a low moan, 
which made her exclaim “ poor boy ” as she 
placed a thumb and finger on either side of 
where his nose had been when she last saw him. 

She was much alarmed, for he had closed the 
sight of his remaining eye, and presented a 
frightful appearance ; l>ut she did not wait by 
his bedside long, for she hurried away for slip- 
pery elm cind oak bark, which she boiled to a 
poultice and spread over his dilapidated coun- 
tenance. She discovered, however, other scars 
about his neck and scratches on his forehead, 
that made her wonder how ‘‘ old brindle” could 
do so much service without claws, and she 
whispered : “ Did the cow kick you, honey?” 

“ N’o,” was his reply ; and he told her how 
Joe Clayborn had slipped up behind him and 
struck him with a club when he was not look- 
ing, and how, after he was unconscious, the vil- 
lain had beaten him in the face and left him for 


146 


TIIEOPTIILUS WALLOP. 


dead, all because he had said his sister had re- 
ceived a letter from that thief, Theophilus 
Wallop. Mrs. McSquint listened to his piti- 
ful story while her eyes moistened with tears, 
and she pitied “ dear Jerry” and nursed him 
for many days before she^pronounced him en- 
tirely out of danger. In the meantime she had 
put down Joe in her mind as almost as great a 
scoundrel as Theophilus. 

CHAPTER XY. 

The assault on the good name of Miss Clay- 
born by Jerry Halter after her refusal to accept 
him as a suitor, with the supplemental help he 
received from his godmother, was not a success 
on his part but did much toward his downfall. 
The people were not ready to believe such 
insinuations and charges against a young and 
heretofore innocent girl, and the punishment 
he received at the hands of her brother was the 
theme of favorable comment in the neighbor- 
hood. He was not any longer a welcome guest 
among the better class of people— a fact which 
seemed to have a depressing effect upon him. 
It had been easy enough to prejudice the peo- 
ple against a 3"Oung man who had mysteriously 
left home ; but with a young lady who was not 
only pure and upright herself, but whose fam- 
ily was above reproach, it was quite a different 
matter, and like Reuben Pepper’s “Yauger” 
had a recoil that did him injury. Many per- 
sons who had been wilUn^, a short time ago, 
to join in denunciation of Theophilus Wallop, 
now Avere wondering in their minds why Halter 
and his A^ery intimate friends were so deeply 


A liOMANTIO HISTORY. 


147 


interested in the crime and in associating other 
names with its knowledge and coininission. 

All in all, he had fallen in the estimation of 
his neighbors, and was regarded as a liase slan- 
derer who had been flogged for lying by a 
young man inferior in size and pretensions. 
It was at this period in Jerry’s history when the 
great “ Wallop scandal” was allowed to rest, 
except in the minds of a very few, for the coun- 
try was now excited over the coming presiden- 
tial election at which Mr. Lincoln was elected 
president. 

Months went by without the matter being 
discussed, and it was not until the 15th day of 
March, 1861, that any incident occurred wortli 
mentioning as connected with the affair. 

Mrs. AVallop had become grayer, and the 
deep lines of sorrow were more prominent, it 
is true, for she had had no tidings of her ab- 
sent son. Nellie, also, had become a regular 
“ stay-at-home” girl. 

She did not mingle with the other folks, or 
give life to the “ apple-cuttings ” and “ weev-ly 
wheat ” parties by her merry laugh as had been 
her custom in former days, and was scarcely 
seen away from home except at church, which 
she attended regularly. 

She had arrived at that period of lier life, to 
be sure, when, under ordinary circumstances, 
she would have rejoiced to mingle with the hap- 
py young people of her age, but a shadow had, 
in a measure, crossed her life and she felt more 
at ease when alone or with a few special friends. 
She was at church, however, the centre of at- 
traction. Her round and well-formed face, 
slightly pallid cheeks, pure complexion, and 
well-cut features, shone with great beauty be- 
hind her brilliant orbs. She carried herself 


148 


TUEOPlllL US WjiLLOP. 


with an ease, grace, and becoming modesty, 
which held the eves of those who gazed at her 
like enchantment. 

It was one of those blustery days, when the 
trees bend and the woods roar and the high 
March winds growl, the timber now and then 
breaking and sending to the ground below the 
long dead prongs and weakly limbs from the 
bodies giving them supi)ort. 

Aaron Flint and his hired hand, Dick Spooner, 
were driving the two-horse wagon, en route io 
mill where a pair of burrs, forced around by a 
great wheel, fed bj^an “ overshot” power, did 
duty in chewing the corn into meal for the den- 
izens of the surrounding country. It was just 
as these two persons were passing up the road 
that led to Mr. 'Wallop’s residence that the 
agonizing shriek of a female voice was heard 
in the vicinity of the house, and hoih looking 
in that direction discovered in a moment a vol- 
ume of smoke issuing from the eaves of the 
roof. 

“ Mr. 'Wallop’s house is on fire,” said Dick, 
and instantly Mr. Flint gave his horses a cut 
with the wdiip, putting them to as much speed 
as he considered safe. The}" hurried to the 
west side of the building, and after dropping 
the traces and throwing the lines around a 
stake, both Mr. Flint and Dick speedily began 
removing the furniture from the building, which 
was too much wrapped in flames to be saved. 

They both worked hard and fast, as is usual in 
such cases, and cleared the eastern part of the 
house first, where the fire was raging most. 
They next proceeded to Samuel’s room and 
soon cleared it of its furniture, even saving the 
sash in the windows. This success encouraged 
an effort to save the nasing itself, which was 


A liOJIANTIC HISTORY. 


149 


prized off with an axe. Stuifed down against 
the bottom board, where it had been securely 
hidden from view, Mr. Flint drew forth a ret- 
icule, somewhat musty, made of blue calico. 
Turning to Dick, who was prizing at another 
window, he said : “This old rag seems to have 
been pretty well stored away,” and l)y holding 
to the string it unfolded in front of him. 

“ Great Heavens !” exclaimed Dick, as his 
eye caught sight of Surrilda Pepper’s lost ret- 
icule. ‘ ‘ Put that in your pocket and let no one 
see it, as you value my friendship.” 

Mr. Flint doubled the article up and crowded 
it down into his pantaloons’ pocket, while he 
likewise folded up the strings and shoved them 
in after. 

“I don’t like to keep this thing as it does 
not belong to me,” said Mr. Flint, as he tossed 
out the remaining pieces of lumber. 

“ I will take charge of it, for it belongs to 
Mrs. Pepper,” continued Dick, in a low but 
nervous tone. And a new and interesting idea 
took possession of Mr. Flint’s mind. Having 
completed their efforts where they were, they 
proceeded to Mrs. Wallop, who was standing 
at some distance weeping over the destruction 
of her house. Nothing else could be saved, as 
the eastern portion of the house was falling in. 

Mr. Wallop and his son now arrived from a 
distant part of the farm, from where they had 
discovered the fire after it had made consider- 
able progress. They were excited, of course, 
but Dick thought it important to keep his eyes 
on Samuel’s movements. He hurried to his own 
room, which was now full of smoke and the 
ceiling already crackling and burning furi- 
ously. He was apparently heedless of danger, 
and rushed into the burning room closely fol- 


150 


TIIEOPIIIL US WALLOP. 


lowed by Dick, who stopped at the outside and 
near the window where the reticule had been 
found. Samuel merely glanced at the point 
where the window-casing had been removed, 
for he observed Dick near by, and passed to 
the southwest corner of the room and hastily 
inspected the floor at that point. 

The smoke and heat were by this time suffo- 
cating and it drove him back to the window, 
where he hastily passed his hand near the spot 
from which the “reticule” had been taken, 
and sprang out the opening with a face full of 
apprehension and dread. 

“ AVetook everything out before you came,” 
said Dick, addressino^ him. 

“ Yes,” was his reply, as he waiKed some 
distance away to the fence, beyond the heat, 
and rested his elbow on a rail, his face pale 
and haggard, while his little brown eyes close 
together darted from the burning building to 
the two men, who by this time were standing 
together. Having saved his plunder from the 
ashes he presented a picture worthy of study. 

Mr. Flint very kindly tendered to Mr. and 
Mrs. AA^allop a portion of his own dwelling 
until they could prepare for themselves more 
comfortable and permanent quarters, and they 
accepted his offer, for it was the best they could 
do under the circumstances. Other neighbors 
had gathered to the scei>e and proffered assist- 
ance, and the usual amount pf conjecture in- 
dulged in as to the origin of the fire. It was 
not until the woodwork had been reduced to 
ashes and the stack of stones and dry mortar 
left standing, that a satisfactory conclusion was 
reached ; but it told its own story, for, at a 
point just above where the ceiling reached, a 
hole was made by a loose and displaced stone, 


A BOMAJ^TIC IIISTOBY. 


151 


which had allowed the fire to escape to the 
wood. There is no time when a country nei<rh- 
borhood is more generous and kind than when 
one of their numl)er has met with a misfortune 
like the one which had overtaken Mr. Walloj), 
and they volunteered at once to the task of 
loading the scattered furniture in Mr. Flint’s 
wagon, for he had abandoned the idea of taking 
his trip to the mill at that time and had emp- 
tied his load of grain. As each article of fur- 
niture was placed in its proper position it met 
the scrutiny of Samuel, whose movements were 
still watched by Dick. There was evidently a 
feeling of great uneasiness on the part of Sam- 
uel when the task was over, for the reticule 
had not been seen by him ; neither was it 
burned, and yet he knew it was not where it 
ought to be. These facts were weighty in his 
sagacious mind, and when he associated them 
with the presence of Dick on that occasion, and 
then Dick’s conduct with other facts and cir- 
cumstances which had previously occurred, he 
was in a disturbed and restless condition . Many 
men before him have experienced similar feel- 
ings —a kind of horror they can not shake off, 
a chilly uneasiness which freezes the blood and 
causes them to start at the slightest unusual 
sound. 

With all his cunning and shrewdness, his in- 
satiate love of money, which had bred dishon- 
esty in his heart and on which he had feasted 
his highest aspirations, he now trembled at the 
presence of a neighbor boy. The “ old reti- 
cule ” was but an empty rag and contained noth- 
ing of value, yet he would have parted with 
a great deal to have known to a certainty that 
it had been consumed in the flames, unobserved. 


152 


TIIEOPIIILUS WALLOP. 


A nervous twitching of tlie muscles and the 
absence of blood from bis face were witnesses 
of a tortured or remorseful conscience. lie 
did not 2:0 with his father and mother to Mr. 
Flint’s, but took up bis abode with Jerry Hal- 
ter at the residence of Mrs. McSquint ; a fact 
which, in connection with other events, added 
nothing to his already partially soiled re[)uta- 
tion. It was late that afternoon before Mr. 
Flint got an ap[)ropriate opportunity to speak 
with Dick and dispose of the reticule ; but while 
in the barn the two made a close insiiection, 
and found the conclusive proof of its ownership, 
by detecting on the inside and near the top the 
name of Surrilda Pepper, the letters (J which 
had been made by threads sewed into the cloth. 

Dick did not tarry long at home after siq)- 
per, hut hurried over to Mr. Clayhorn’s, where 
the news of the burning of Mr. IVal lop’s house 
had preceded him. He did not spend much 
time with the family that evening, except with 
Nellie, whom he entertained with the startling 
developments of the day, and let her inspect 
with her own eyes the reticule, which i)oiuted 
most certainly to Samuel lYallop as one of the 
thieves, at least, who had committed the crime, 
while it furnished more certainly and conclu- 
sively the evidence of the innocence of The-- 
ophilus. 

Dick returned to Mr. Flint’s and securely hid 
the last piece of eviJeiico discovered an 1 went 
about his worlt as usual, while Mr. MTillop lost 
no time in building another house on his farm; 
and again all the family were sheltered under 
the same roof. 

Jerry Halter had remained pretty close at 
home during the winter, and did not converse 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


153 


much with those he met ; whether it was at the 
suggestion of Samuel, or because of his diffi- 
culty with Joe Clayborn, can only be conjec- 
tured. Mrs. McSquint and Clarissy Cutright 
had become deadly enemies, growing out of the 
“talk” a])out Miss Clayborn; and quite a 
number of rumors had been chased aliout the 
neighl)orhood, derogatory to Mr. Clayborn and 
family, always landing back to the fountain 
head, Jerry Halter, Charity giving them their 
finishing touches. 

Not only were the fierce winds of March 
wliistling tlirough the woodland, but a great 
cloud of civil war was roaring in the distance 
and shadowing the homes of a free people. 

An event far reaching in its consequences, 
and fraught with a trouble and sorrow greater 
than any which had])efore afflicted the American 
people. All minor events and sensations dis- 
appeared in the public mind, and all discussion 
ceased except that of the effect of the coming- 
storm. 

The departure of Theophilus M^allop from 
his home, the theft of the money, and all things 
else affecting the welfare or adversity of the 
people everywhere, was lost sight of amid the 
excitement of the approaching calamity. Ev- 
ery lather’s face was full of anxiety, every 
mother’s eyes were filled with tears, and every 
home was one of sadness. It was a time when 
the country’s statesmen had failed to guide the 
ship of state aright and the momentous ques- 
tion of the hour had to be settled by bloodshed. 
The nation must be plunged into war with all 
its fearful consequences, and soon the roar of 
the cannon, the bugle blasts, and stimulating 
clatter of the drum were heard. 


154 


TiiEoniiL US wji ll op. 


The professional man came from his office, 
the mechanic from his shop, and the hard-fisted 
yeoman from his plough. Fathers gave up their 
sons, wives their husbands, and girls their 
sweethearts, to save our country from dissolu- 
tion and ruin. The appeal of the authorities 
for troops, the voice of patriotic song, and that 
of the orator were read and heard from city 
hall, hamlet, and grove. The national emblem 
floated in the air, carried by thousands of hands, 
propelled by patriotic-hearts, leading the might- 
iest army the world had ever seen to victory. 
Mingled with the music of war could be heard 
the sad wailing of mother, sister, and wife, as 
they bade farewell to father, son, and husband, 
who took up the line of march to suffering, 
fio’htino:, and death. It was not the feeling: of 
an hour or the excitement of a day, but a con- 
tinuing commotion, a preparation for war, 
where young men in the health and strength of 
their manhood broke the ties of home and kin- 
dred and sacrificed themselves upon the altar 
of their country. It was a surprise to the men 
high in authority that so majestic an arm 3^ could 
be raised in the workshops and bioad fields 
without the aid of the coercive j)ower of gov- 
ernment. There was a lurking idea that most 
of the patriotism and chivalric Iwaveiy rested 
with men who were blessed or cursed with 
wealth or office. But it was earh^ demonstraled 
that there was no hick of devotion to the coun- 
try and its flag by those of lowl}^ l)irth who had 
not reposed, during their lives, in the lap of 
luxury. 

It was when the “ Hon. Jones ” had de- 

livered himself again of the finest effort of his 
life, in an eloquent description of our grand 


A liOMAl^Tta lltSTORT. 


155 


and growing coinnionwealth, from the landing 
of the “Ma 3 ^tlower” to the firing on Fort 
Sninter, that a martial band commenced 
marching back and forth in a deep and shady 
grove near the Clay1)orn schoolhouse, now 
somewhat dilapidated, to the time of “Bona- 
parte’s Retreat,” and Dick Spooner and Joe 
Clayborn enlisted as members of Company A 
of the — Regt. Indiana Volunteers. 

A few days were set apart to them for prep- 
aration l)efore they took their final departure, 
with thousands, for the field of battle. 

“ Well, Dick,” said Joe, in a serious mood, 
for he was thinking of the sad final leave-tak- 
ing of his family, “ this is a serious enterprise 
we have embarked in.” 

“Yes, but somebody has to put down the 
rebellion, and we had as well get the glory of 
it as others,” said he, smiling. 

“Well, I volunteered because I felt it my 
duty, let the consequences be what they may.” 

“ Well, I am in for fun, and think I will get 
back all right ; but if a ‘ Johnnie ’ knocks my 
trotters out I have nobody to grieve for me, 
not even a girl.” 

“ Yes, Dick, you have many friends who 
would be sorry if you should be killed.” 

“We will stick together, Joe, whatever hap- 
pens.” 

Thus these young men talked as a thou- 
sand others did under similar circumstances. 
The two separated, each going his way, feel- 
ing that he had met, and was willing to per- 
form, a patriot’s duty. 

It was a sad evening indeed, at the Clay- 
born home, when Joe broke the news that he 
and Dick Spooner had enlisted in the war. We 


156 


TIlEOPlllL US WALLOP. 


do not mean that there a lack of patriotism 
on the part of anyone of the himily, hut it was 
the ordeal of suriendering a loved one to the 
dangers of cruel war. 

“ Joseph,” said his father in a tone of deep 
feeling, “ my hoy, it is hard to surrender you 
to the mercy of bullets, for I have no other 
son to assist and sustain me in my declining- 
years ; but I cannot claim that 3-011 are dearer 
to me than others are to their fathers, so 3^011 
have as much of my consent as it is possible 
for a father to give, to go, and be sacrificed, 
perhaps, for the benefit of our countiy.” 

“ I am hopeful that I may return ; but if I 
do not I will be but one of thousands to die in 
defense of the nation’s flag, and it would be an 
honorable death,” answered Joe. 

Here the conversation teiminated, for Kel- 
lie, who had heard the matter discussed, bioke 
compIetel3^ down on hearing the biave but 
tender words of her brother, and she thi ew her 
arms around his neck and wept like a child. 
Her life for more than a 3'ear past had been 
lonely and sad, and the thought that her onl3^ 
brother was going far away to the south, where 
she would perhaps never see him again unless 
he might be brought home dead with his bod3’' 
pierced with balls, was too much for her tender 
nature, and she had broken down under her 
feelings. 

A manly tear dropped from his cheek as he. 
gently removed the arms of his sister from 
about his neck and kissed her moist cheek. 

It was the next afternoon when Dick came 
over, not neglecting to whistle as he neared the 
house. Nellie hurried to meet him, for he Avas 
next to her brother in her affections, but this 


A HOjVAJVTIC history. 


157 


time her face was sorrowful, and she could not 
keep from crying when she met his gaze. 

“ I thought maybe you would shed tears 
oyer me, sometime,” he said, while his eyes 
fairly danced. 

“ I did not think, when we were joking about 
the matter, that it would terminate so seri- 
ously.” 

“ Nothing very serious in going to war, is 
there?” he replied. 

“ Do you not think there is great danger of 
your getting killed? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know; I am a good dodger, 
you see.” 

“ But you can’t dodge a bullet.” 

“I would try mighty hard ; besides, I am 
not so large, and there is lots of room for them 
to pass by.” 

“ ^la'ny poor fellows will be killed,” she con- 
tinued, seriously. 

“ Yes, but they would die sometime if they 
remained at home.” 

“That is true, but they would be among 
their friends which would be a great comfort.” 

“ Yes, those who have near friends,” he con- 
tinued, with a tinge of regret tliat he had been 
left in the world without near kin. 

“ It maybe a little different with you, Dick, 
blit I am so sorry you and Joe must go, but I 
will pray for ^mu when you are far away,” and 
lier feelings overcame her and Dick abandoned 
the idea of cheering her with his odd and witty 
answers. 

A long talk was had as to the best mode of 
disposing of the facts and circumstances in his 
possession which pointed to the innocence of 
Theophilus in the larceny. For in case he 


158 


THEOPHILUS WALLOP, 


should never return, he felt it a high duty to 
place in reach of Theophilus the facts which 
would prove his innocence if he ever returned 
for trial. They finally concluded it was best 
to intrust their secrets and evidences in the 
care and keeping of Mr. Flint and her father. 
Accordingly, Mr. Flint and Dick appeared early 
next morning at Mr. Clayborn’s, and the three 
together had a long and earnest interview in 
the grove near by, 

Dick related w ith great particularity the con- 
versation he had overheard between Samuel 
Wallop and. Jerry Halter, in regard to the will 
beneath the walnut tree, his efforts during the 
week^ and of the mysterious night trip of Jerry, 
and his discoveries at the fallen oak. 

He gave them the sticks with the measure- 
ments of the two footprints found at the trunk 
of the tree, and went into a minute detail of 
Mr. Latemeal’s stor}^, with his version* of the 
horse with the three white feet passing each 
way on the night of the crime, which he supple- 
mented with an exact measurement of the foot 
of “ stockin’ John.” 

He next proceeded to the discovery of the 
reticule at the burning of Mr. Wallop’s house, 
and held it up to the inspection of Mr. Clay- 
born. 

The facts as they were detailed by Dick were 
susceptible of but one construction as they 
presented themselves to the minds of the two 
listeners, and they promised to do the best they 
could in watching events in his absence. Af- 
ter Flint had taken possession of the articles 
shown them, Dick took his final leave of Mr. 
Clayborn, who manifested deep feeling at his 
departure, for he realized the young man’s 


A ROMANTIC HISTORT. 


169 


great worth and true fidelity more this morning 
than ever before. 

“ I have read the story of ‘ Damon and Pyth- 
ias,’” said Mr. Clayborn, after Dick had gone 
to bid auntie and Nellie good-bye, “but I was 
not expecting a repetition of it in my own time, 
and to see such a beautiful illustration of true 
friendship as has been shown by that noble 
young fellow toward Theophilus Wallop.” 

“ I can now account for his absence from my 
house many times, which was before a mystery 
to me and at times annoyed me, but it is now 
as plain as day,” said Mr. Flint. And the 
two men talked over the probable results of 
the war. 

Auntie had impressed a kiss on Dick’s fair 
brow at his leaving, saying, “ Poor boy, he has 
no mother;” and Nellie followed him to the 
gate, for she feared it was the last time she 
would ever see his pleasant face and hear his 
gentle voice. 

“Well, Nellie, I have told them all, and in- 
trusted them with the measurements and reti- 
cule, and if I am never able to render Theophilus 
more assistance, I feel that I have done what I 
could in his behalf.” 

Nellie could make no answer, for she was 
choking with grief which had reached her heart 
from many sources. He held her hand in his 
some time, for he must go, and said : 

“ Good-bye, Nellie ; remember I will write 
you often, if I can.” 

She did not let go his hand at once, but still 
holding it, she looked into his moistening eyes 
and tenderly kissed him ; yes, kissed him ; not 
with a lover’s kiss, but because he was so 


160 


THEOPHILUa WALLOP. 


good and kind, aad bad no sister, or mother, or 
aoy one to love and caress him. 

In the afternoon Joe took his leave, and it 
was one he never forgot. Such partings can- 
not be described in fitting language, and need 
not be ; for every father and mother whose son 
became a soldier will remember the scene by 
the mere mention of it. The two young soldiers 
took their leave of Mr. Flint’s family with the 
same good words spoken to the departing heroes 
all over the country ; and on the day of — . 1861 , 
they became a part of the army of the Stars and 
Stripes, and moved to the front. What they 
did and saw will appear further on 

CHAPTER XVL 

It was good news to Samuel Wallop and 
Jerry Halter, when they learned that Joe Clay- 
born and Dick Spooner had gone into the 
army, especially was this so as to Spooner 
thought Samuel, for without being able to 
give a reason, he had a constant feeling of 
uneasiness while that young man remained 
near him. It was not a permanent relief to his 
mind, however, for the absent reticule was 
somewhere, and in somebody’s possession per- 
haps, where it was destined to turn up and tor- 
ment him. 

Matters which would not affect Halter in 
the least, would be brooded over by Samuel, 
and analyzed by his careful mind, and un- 
pleasant deductions made therefrom. To him 
the lost riticule was a thing not to be ignored 
or lightly passed over, and it haunted him by 
day and by night. From the day that his 
father’s house burned, he was discontented 


A ROMANTIC BISTORT. 


161 


and restless ; something had made a weight 
on liis existence which he could not shake off. 
He became more reserved in his mauner nnd 
conversation with the few people with whom he 
associated, and passed a great portion of ins 
nights sleepless and nervous. He became cross 
and fretful, especially toward his mother, and 
in a few months lines on his little slim face in- 
dicated his inward trouble. 

He passed the most of his time with nis 
companion, for he seemed to feel safer when in 
his presence, while Halter had almost forgotten 
the ugly circumstances known to exist against 
him, and looked robust, manifesting the same 
audacity and boldness which had characterized 
him from youth. Had it been at a different 
period in the history of the country, the actions 
and conduct of these two young men would 
doubtless have been more closely scrutinized, 
but the continued and unabated excitement of 
the war, and the constant departure of the 
young men of the neighborhood, being upper- 
most in their minds, the matter that concerned 
them most was least thought of by their neigh- 
bors. 

More than a year passed after the departure 
of Dick and young Clayborn to the war, still 
Samuel Wallop was not contented. He had not 
developed into muscular manhood, but was, if 
anything, reduced in flesh, and wore a haggard 
appearance, which with his notions of blood- 
shed was a sufficient excuse for his not enlisting 
in the army. 

Anthony Wallop was becoming more en- 
feebled in health, and his rheumatism had 
more than once threatened his heart. He had 
always been so peculiar and reticent that his 


162 


THJEOPBIL US WALL OP. 


wife could judge but little of his thoughts, 
and it was not until his severe sickness, that 
he mentioned the name of his absent son. It 
was late in October 1862 , when Mr. Flint, the 
nearest neighbor, was called to sit up at night 
with him when he was suffering from one of 
his severe attacks of trouble in the region of 
his heaii;. These attacks weie irregular, but 
when they came on were ahirming. M'hen 
they had passed away, however, he was almost 
free from pain, and could converse freely, if 
so disposed. 

He had reached his sixt}’ -seventh year, and 
had begun to realize that he rvas nearing the 
end of life. It was after the midnight hour, 
and his pain had ceased. Tinning over he 
looked his neighbor in the face, and said : 

“ This here pain in my breast, will take me 
off sometime.” 

“You are better now than during the fore 
part of the night,” said Mr. Flint, consolingly. 

“ Yes, but it will come back in a few days, 
and they get wuss every time.” 

“ Well, we have all got to go sometime, 
and you are getting old.” 

“ Sixty-six past,” said Mr. Wallop. 

“ You have had a good constitution?” 

“Yes, but it is nearly worn out now.” 

“Well, said Mr. Flint, if you should be 
called away, I reckon 3^011 have got your af- 
fairs arranged satisfactoiy to j’ourself.” 

“ No, I don’t know that I have, egg-zactly.” 

“ Well, I suppose it is a hard matter to get 
everything as one would desire,” was the 
reply. 

“ I have fixed 1113^ property, I guess, as well 
as I can, but I have had so much trouble with 
my bo3's.” 


A BOMAJVTIC HISTOnV. 


163 


“Samuel has not given you much trouble, 
I suppose ? ” 

“ More’ll you think for.” 

“I knew you were troubled about your 
other son,” said Mr. Flint. 

“ I tried hard to give him such trainin’ as 
would do him good, but maybe I could a done 
better.” 

“ I suppose you have not heard from him?” 

“No, he has never writ but one letter, and 
that to his mother.” 

‘ ‘ Had he heard he had been charged with 
the crime when he wrote?” 

“ Yes, but he denied it, and writ such good 
Avords, hopin’ I would live to find out he 
didn’t do it, that I would like to live longer,” 
and he drew a long breath Avhich ivas followed 
by a silence of some duration. 

“Maybe you will live to know it yet,” said 
Mr. Flint, encouragingly. 

“ I don’t think I Avill be liere long, and I 
never hear from liim, and Samuel is so strange 
here of late, that I feel in my old age that 
my children are no comfort to me.” 

“ What seems to ' be the matter with Sam- 
uel?” inquired Mr. Flint. 

“ Grievin’ about the way his brother done, I 
think, for he has been actin’ quar every since 
he left.” 

“I knew he did not look well,” answered 
Mr. Flint. 

“No, he looks bad, and don’t sleep to do 
any good, and hollers and gabbles in his sleep 
so much.” 

“ The result of indigestion, perhaps?” 

“ Humph.” 

“His stomach is out of order, I mean,” 
explained Mr, Flint, 


164 


TTIEOFIIIL US WALL OP. 


“No — no — the ailin’ is here (pointing to 
his head), for he gets sheared at Dic*k 
Spooner, and liollers for Jerry till we go to 
him and wake him up, and Mrs. McSquiiit 
says he does that way at her house. I am 
afeared he won’t live long.” 

“You must not worry too much over these 
matters, for it doubtless brings back your 
pains.” 

“ Maybe it does, but I can’t help it.” 

Mr. Flint during the interview, between 
questions and answers, had been thinking to 
himself, and was at a loss to know just what 
to do, and what was the best thing to sa}^ to 
his neighbor under the circumstances. He 
was pleased to know that Mr. M^allop, be- 
neath his rough nature, still enteidained a 
father’s love for Theophilus, which he was not 
expecting to see manifested. He felt that he 
could give him assurances of the innocence of 
one son, but in so doing, if he gave his opin- 
ion full}^ it would involve the guilt of the 
other. He therefore concluded that he would 
do what he could in a general way to put his 
mind more at ease as to Theophilus, without 
Venturing an opinion as to the guilty parties. 

“Mr. M^allop,” said he, “do you really 
think that Theophilus took Mrs. Pepper’s 
money?” 

“ Oh, I reckon he must a done it, but it was 
forenenst his trainin’.” 

“I believe him to be as innocent of the 
crime as an angel,” said Mr. Flint, fastening 
his eyes on the sick man. 

“What makes you think so?” said Mr. 
AVallop, his eyes brightening. 

“I have reasons and some knowledge of 


A BOMAJYTIC HISTOBY. 


165 


facts that convince me of it,” was the answer. 

“I hope that you may be right, and would 
like to know what you have learned.” 

“Not now, Mr. Wallop, I can’t give you 
anything but my opinion, and you must be 
content with that and believe as I do if you 
can,” and with these words he awoke Mrs. 
Wallop and left her husband in her care, and 
went home to secure a few hours of sleep. 

Mr. Wallop was soon able to leave his 
room, and quietly go about his farm, but was 
far from being well. Samuel was passing his 
time with Jerry at Mrs. McSquint’s where 
that lady had quietly but hopefully under- 
taken to restore his health, which she in- 
sisted had been “unpaired” by a “tordid” 
liver. 

She accordingly proceeded to a restoration 
of that organ by appliances of various kind's 
of poultices, known only to her apothecaric 
mind. Samuel’s malady did not readily yield 
to the skilful treatment of his physician, but 
Charity noticed quite an improvement, and 
was very hopeful of his final recovery, or at 
least that was what she said. 

The drums continued to beat, the flags to 
wave, and the orators sent forth their elo- 
quent appeals, while the press everywhere 
pleaded for, and urged young and healthy 
men into the war for the suppression of the 
rebellion, yet Jerry Halter could not see why 
his personal eftbrt was necessary in the under- 
taking. It was true he was of strong build, 
unmarried (not his fault however), and at the 
proper age to do valiant service for his country ; 
but he would have to leave his kind old god- 
mother without help and alone. There were 


166 


THEOPIIIL US WALLOP. 


the COWS to drive, “ stockin’ ” John to chase 
in the field, the pigs to feed, and chickens to 
watch, and he was entirely too tender-hearted 
to leave this burden to Charity. He loved 
his country, it is true, but he loved himself, a 
good bed in which to sleep, and Charity’s 
cooking, better. He did not go to the war, 
much to the approval of Charity, who de- 
clared it (the war) was the greatest piece of 
foolishness she ever heard of. 

While this little family was thus agreed and 
happy, quite a different state of aflhirs existed 
at the home of her sister. From the first 
sound of the war trumpet, Keuben Pepper 
“ had snuffed the battle from afar,” and was 
frothing and panting for the l)lood of the 
traitor who had trampled his country’s ffag 
beneath his unhallowed feet. 

He lost all interest in the construction of 
the globe on which he rested his weary feet, 
and the causes which led to the “unpleasant- 
ness” were the burden of his song fi om day 
to day. He was ordinarily a man of peace, 
and had the utmost respect for the feelings 
and muscle of his fellow-men. But when an 
ungrateful subject rebelled against the govern- 
ment, which threw its protecting arm around 
him like a warm blanket in January, he be- 
came desperate, and it required the combined 
efforts of Surrilda and little Bob, on more 
occasions than one, to keep the excited hus- 
band and father from rushing to the front 
Avith his “Yauger” and annihilating the 
South. When these spasms of irresistible 
patriotism took possession of the determined, 
but short and stumpy hero, he would go 
through the manual of arms, “right shoulder 


A HOIfAJ^TIC inSTOIir. 


167 


shift arms,” “order arms,” “take aim,” “, fire,” 
and snap his flint on the “pan ” of his musket, 
pointed at an imaginary foe in the distance. 

He would then assume the soldierly atti- 
tude taken at the command of ‘ ‘ parade- 
rest,” and remind Surrilda of how much ser- 
vice the government was losing by reason of 
his having to stay at home with her and the 
children, while the flag of his country was 
endangered. The question of his volunteer- 
ing with the next recruiting officer who came 
along, was one of constant discussion on his 
part. Many times he left the house with the 
avowed purpose of joining the army if death 
overtook him the next day. He would get as 
far as the top rail of the fence, where he 
would break down with the horrible thought 
that his mangled remains might be brought 
home to his orphan children, or that his bones 
might bleach beneath the rays of a southern 
sun. 

He would sit a long while and ponder over 
the grave questions, and return to the house, 
as Surrilda expected. She had great confid- 
ence in her husband, and it was that which 
caused her to remain quiet and serene while 
he was threatening to. go to war, and leave 
her and the dear children to mourn his ab- 
sence. Even Reuben’s neighbors, notwith- 
standing his patriotic nature and spasmodic 
impulses, joined in his wife’s opinion, that if 
the cruel rebellion was not crushed until he 
rushed madly forth to its suppression, then 
indeed would we have a long-continued strug- 
gle. Reuben did not take himself to battle, 
and many others did likewise, who reasoned 
after the style and fashion of Mr. Pepper. 


168 


THEOPHIL US WALLOP. 


But thousands of others, more reckless than 
he, had enlisted and had gone down in bat- 
tle, leaving wives and children to mourn 
them. Of all the states which suffered from 
the war, there was none that had a severer 
test than old Virginia, the native state of Mr. 
Clayborn. The few relatives he had in the 
world, outside of his immediate family, lived 
- there, and his heart went out in sympathy for 
his kindred who were between the fires of the 
two great armies. He was thinking of his 
wife’s widowed sister, and the misfortunes 
which must overtake her, as he leaned against 
the door of the village post-office, while the 
officer was calling out the names of parties to 
whom letters were addressed. 

“Johnathan Clayborn,” said he, as he 
handed an envelope to him, addressed in a 
neatly written hand. 

He tore open the envelope and read the let- 
ter which was from a niece. Miss Charlene 
Rivers, a daughter of the sister of his de- 
ceased wife, of whom he had been thinking. 
The letter bore the sad intelligence of the 
death of her mother, Avith a great many de- 
tails of the suffering caused by the war, clos- 
ing with the request to temporarily make her 
home with him, in case she could make her 
way through the line of the Union army. 
Mr. Clayborn folded the letter and started 
for home, feeling sorry to hear of the death of 
' his sister-in-law, but not that her daughter 
wished to come to him for help, and escape 
the dangers which threatened those helpless 
ones at the front. He was more than willing 
to have her come, for it would not only be a 
pleasure to aid the orphan girl, but his own 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


169 


daughter needed a companion to cheer her 
drooping spirits which were telling on her 
young life. He would submit the matter to 
his sister and Nellie, however, but he did not 
doubt that Charlene would be*a welcome vis- 
itor, for though he and his sister had not seen 
her since her early childhood, yet he knew 
that her parents were of a good family, and 
possessed kindly dispositions which they must 
have left as an inheritance to their daughter. 

“What news, father?” said Nellie, on meet- 
ing her father, and her face grew a shade 
paler, for she lived in constant dread, as many 
others did, of the intelligence through the 
mail. 

“Nothing from Joe, but here is a letter 
from your cousin.” 

“Let me see it; I can’t think who it is 
from,” and she read it through, becoming 
serious as she read of the death of her aunt, 
whose face she did not remember to have 
seen ; but she was delighted to know that her 
cousin wished to come to them, and said : 

“ We will have her come, won’t we, father?” 

“Just as you and your aunt say.” 

“Then I will go and see auntie,” and she ran 
into the house, where she again read the letter, 
and all agreed to write to Charlene at once to 
come as soon as she liked. The letter was 
written that evening by Nellie’s own hand, 
and was ready for the mail next morning. 
It was late when she went to sleep that night, 
but she was lighter hearted than she had been 
for months before. She had received letters 
regularly, almost once a week, from Joe, and 
occasionally one from Dick, bringing the good 
news that each had escaped disease and 


no 


mmPIIIL us WALL OP. 


death. Joe’s letters always breathed words 
of kindness and hope for his safe return, 
while Dick’s were full of queer and witty 
points, never failing to bring a smile to jSTel- 
lie’s face. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

It was on the 22d day of May, 1863, I be- 
lieve, after the battles of Champion Hill and 
Black River bridge had been fought on the east 
and in the rear of Vicksburg, when the troops 
were resting about on the hills, that some mat- 
ters occurred in connection with our little his- 
tory which ought to be mentioned. The dead 
and wounded had been buried and cared for, 
and the ‘ ‘ boys ” who had done a great deal of 
hard fighting and marching through mud and 
swamps and over hills and clilfs a few days 
preceding, were now allowed to recruit their 
strength, for a regular siege of the city was con- 
templated. Besieging a place is nothing more 
than camping around it so closely that the 
enemy cannot escape. You must keep your 
eye on him it is true, for as he becomes lean 
and lank from hunger, his tendency to leap 
the barriers in front, or steal out at night 
becomes strong, and the utmost vigilance is re- 
quired. It is a matter of considerable com- 
fort to a besieging army to realize that its 
enemy is cooped up with every avenue of 
escape cut off and weakening each day for want 
of food. The occasion was not monotonous, for 
the front lines of both armies, when not prac- 
ticing marksmanship at each other from rifie 
pits, were exchanging articles of food, rough 
jokes, and opinions, while the officers were 


A JROIlAJiTIC HISTORY. 


171 


busy planning to blow each other up with 
powder. 

It was a great arm 3^ that formed a strong 
line extending miles around the city, Avhich 
feasted on the “strong” diet of Uncle Sam, 
with dessert from the surrounding country, 
while those in the coop were gradually sharp- 
ening their appetites for the choice “porter 
house ” cuts of the confederate mule. It is a 
grand but strange sight to view an armj^ in 
camp, covering the hills and valleys far and 
near. Some are grouped together in squads 
of fours, amusing themselves with variously 
pictured two-b} -four papers, while others are 
spinning 3^arns between putfs from their briar- 
wood pipes. Others are bending over the 
three gallon camp kettle, hurriedly stirring 
the burning rice, while 3^et others are writing 
letters to friends and loved ones at home. 

There are some who drift around lonely by 
themselves, in deep reflection, while far more 
obtain their needed rest by sleep, not on 
downy pillows, but the soft side of boards, 
the dr}^ leaves, the wet grass or mother earth. 
It was late in the evening when Corporal Dick 
Spooner returned from relieving the sentinel 
on duty in the rear of the division. He was 
in his usual good humor, for the service had 
not broken his hardy constitution as it had 
some others, and was wondering what the 
young people were doing back in “ Hoosier,” 
when he obseiwed a comrade of an adjoining 
company, far out from his quarter, doubled up 
like the half moon, sleeping on some rough 
timber, with a little red lizzard now and then 
passing over his haversack near b}^. 

“ Hello there, partner,” said Dick. “Why 


172 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP 


don’t you go to your ‘ Chebang ’ and take a 
decent snoose ? ” 

The tired fellow opened his eyes a little and 
taking a very weak look at Dick relapsed into 
forgetfulness, but Dick knew he would be 
more comfortable in his quarters, and deter- 
mined that he would fully arouse him, gave 
him a considerable shake and exclaimed : 

“ Say, friend, you will warp if you don’t 
straighten out, I would not be found dead all 
curled up that way.” 

“ No, I spect not, but if you had been tramp- 
ing without sleep, as I did last night, you 
wouldn’t interrupt a fellow,” said he, wiping 
his eyes with his knuckles. 

“ Where have you been,” asked Dick. 

“Way out in the hills, hunting buttermilk. 
I got tired of ‘ hardtack ’ and ‘ skippers ’ and 
thought I would have a change.” 

“Well, how did you succeed?” 

“I did not get the milk, but I got a piece 
of goat and et it, and I just wanted to climb 
hills, fences, and narrow planks all night till I 
wore myself out and laid down here.” 

“You must have eaten a whole goat?” 

“No, but I don’t think I will want any 
more for some time.” 

“Well, let us go to our regiment,” said 
Dick. 

“ Oh, I just thought of it, did you see that 
officer who was looldng for you?” said the 
comrade. 

“What officer?” 

“ I did not learn his name, ])ut a captain of 
some Iowa regiment was asking about you 
and the company you belonged to, and said he 
was coming to see you this evening.” 


A liOMANTIC BiSTOHr. 


ITS 

“That is strange, for I do not know any 
officer outside of our regiment,” said Dick, as 
they strolled along. 

They were just passing the headquarters of 
their colonel when they observed a strange, 
tall, well-built man in conversation with the 
adjutant, who observing the two soldiers pass- 
ing near by remarked : 

“There goes Corporal Spooner now.” The 
strange captain at once started in the direc- 
tion of the two men, but as it was getting a 
little dark, Dick was unal)le to see his features 
until he came within a few feet of him. 

“Mr. Spooner, I think I will have to put 
you under arrest,” said the captain, in a voice 
evidently assumed. 

“For what?” said Dick quickly. 

“Because you have forgotten an old ac- 
quaintance so easily,” was the reply, in a tone 
that utterly surprised Dick. 

“I certainly ought to recognize your voice,” 
giving the officer as close a look as the light 
would admit. 

“Yes, if we were back in Indiana you 
would know me.” 

“ G-e-e-Whiz-e. Is your name Wallop?” 

“It certainly is,” said Captain Theophilus 
Wallop as the two friends grasped each other 
by the hand, and continued to shake till the 
soldier standing by concluded that the cere- 
mony was to be protracted too late for his 
comfort, so he left. 

“I was afraid we would never meet again, 
Theophilus,” said Dick, who in his great joy 
and surprise had forgotten that his school- 
mate was now - wearing the uniform of his 
rank. 


174 


m^opiiiL as WALLOP. 


“I have l)een reconnoitring for you some 
time,” was the reply. 

“How did you learn where I was ? ” 

“I learned of your enlistment through 
your uncle in Iowa, who had a letter from 
someone in Indiana, and I kept trace of your 
regiment until I accidently met the comrade 
who was here a moment ago.” 

“ AYell, I never was so agreeably surprised 
in my life.” 

“ Yes, Dick, and this meeting is one that I 
have been wishinc: for ever since I thought it 
possible that we might see each other.” 

“We will now go to our tent and astonish 
Joe.” 

“ Joe? ” 

“ Yes, Joe Olayborn is in my company.” 

“Is it possible ! ” exclaimed the captain who 
suddenly stopped and turned facing Dick. 

“Yes, and he will be the best pleased feb 
low around Vicksburg to see you.” 

“ Are you sure of it?” said Theophilus hes- 
itating. 

“Indeed I am. Captain.” 

“I had rather you would call me The- 
ophilus, for it sounds more natural, but you 
know, Dick, I have been resting under a cloud, 
and su[)pose my old friends have lost confi- 
dence in me.” 

“ You stand as high to-night in the estima- 
tion of Joe Clayborn as you ever did in your 
life, and as to the cloud jmu speak of, I give 
you my word there has been a great change in 
your favor in public sentiment, which I will 
fully explain to you later. I can give you 
some information which will have a tendency 


A B03fANTIG HISTORY. 


175 


at least to put your mind at rest, and now let 
us go at once.” 

They soon arrived at the tent, where they 
did astonish Joe who was indeed surprised, 
hut delighted to see his old friend. The greet- 
ing was w^arm and a long and pleasant conver- 
sation followed. It was a warm, still, quiet 
night and after agreeing to remain till morn- 
ing, Dick proposed a little walk with Theoph- 
ilus alone, which Joe tacitly understood to 
have some reference to the charges which had 
been made against him, and remained in his 
“ hunk.” 

The two young men walked some distance 
and seated themselves upon a log beyond the 
hearing of anyone and entered into a long 
conversation. Theophilus gave his friend a 
complete history of the causes which led him 
to leave home, and what occurred the day he 
left, except the occurrences at Mr. Clayhorn’s. 
He followed this with his trip and stop over 
at Mr. Pepper’s, and continued his narrative 
of what occurred at Mr. Grewel’s, his trip up 
the Missouri Kiver and into Iowa, where he 
made his home till he became a soldier at the 
first call for three years’ troops. He had been 
elected by his company as first lieutenant 
when it was mustered into the service, and 
promoted to captain at Paduka, Kentucky. 
His regiment had joined the forces of General 
Grant at Fort Donelson and he had been 
under him since. His story was one of con- 
tinued hardships, the winter preceding hav- 
ing been severe on the troops ; but his greatest 
anguish had been caused by the charges made 
against him among the acquaintances of his 
early life. He declared his innocence in 


176 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


strong terms, a matter, however, not necessary 
to convince his friend. Dick, in turn, gave 
him a history of his efforts in his behalf, the 
overheard conversations between Samuel and 
Halter, and every other fact in connection with 
the affair which had come to his knowledge. 
Theophilus listened to the story with nervous 
gratitude, and several times shook his friend’s 
hand and thanked him for his kindness. 
There were two circumstances Dick had pur- 
posely omitted, for they did not belong to the 
main thread of his story. One was the part 
Nellie had taken in the matter, the other what 
Joe had done in vindicating her good name. 
He had reserved these facts for a climax. 

“ I told you I had acted the detective in 
the matter,” said Dick. 

“ Yes, Dick, and I can never repay you for 
your disinterested kindness.” 

“You do not owe it all to me,” was the 
answer. 

“Why so?” 

“Because someone assisted me.” 

“ Who else has been my friend in this 
trouble, pray?” 

“You have had more than one.” 

“ Who are they, and how did they assist 
you? ” 

“ I am afraid you might blush here in the 
dark,” said Dick. 

‘ ‘ There are no ladies present and I am not 
so timid as I used to be,* answered Theoph- 
ilus. 

“ Sure you will not go to writing poetry?” 

“ I guess not, I never was guilty of any- 
thing of the kind.” 

“ Then Miss Nellie Clayborn was my only 
adviser in your case.” 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 177 

“Thank heaven she did not believe me 
guilty.” 

“ Slie has seen the evidences of your iniio- 
cence.” 

“Dick, you make me think this world is 
worth living in after all.” 

“ Of course it is, I don’t want to leave it at 
any rate.” 

“Ah, my good fellow, I have wished a 
thousand times to see you, for it has seemed 
that in all my trouble you could give me good 
news, and now my feeling has been verified.” 

‘ ‘ I always try to keep a package of that 
kind of goods with me.” 

“ What else, Dick, tell me all?” 

“Joe did you some service that did you 
good as well as another at least.” 

‘ ‘ In what way ? ” 

“ He ‘ licked ’ Jerry Halter till Mrs. 
McSquint did not know him.” 

“ For what?” 

“ For charging Nellie with having a knowl- 
edge of your committing the crime, and be- 
ing connected with it in some way.” 

“ Dick, you don’t mean it do 3^011?” 

“ Well, if you had seen Halter when I got to 
them, you would thought Joe meant it.” 

“It was a noble act in Joe, don’t you 
think?” 

“Of course, and if it were not for some 
people in this world, I would like to have him 
for a brother-in-law.” 

“ What do you mean by some people?” 

“That she is dead in love with your big 
ugly self.” 

“What makes you think so?” 

“I am a detective, and while fishing for 


178 


TIIEOPIIIL US WALLOP. 


other facts in your case I discovered that 
one.” 

“ But she never expects to see me again.” 

“I do not know as to that, but I have seen 
her bright eyes dance with joy as the evi- 
dences of your innocence came gradually to 
light, and I have seen her face sadden while 
the gossips were heaping epithets upon you.” 

Theophilus could no longer keep his seat but 
rose and marched back and forth like one 
greatly excited. The great shadow which Inid 
hovered about. him was disappearing, he was 
overjoyed and turning to his friend said : 

“ Dick, you have taught me a lesson of true 
friendship which will last me during my life.” 

“ I have done nothing for you but what you 
would have done for me had I been situated 
as you have been.” 

“ That is the highest compliment you could 
pay me,” was the answer. 

“ Well, the work is not completed yet, for 
the guilty parties must be made known to the 
public by proof, before you will be entirely 
vindicated.” 

“ Certainly, but I am sorry that my brother 
seems to be connected with the matter.” 

“Yes,” said Dick, “that is an unpleas- 
ant feature to you, but it is of his own choos- 
ing.” 

“ His greed for money has been his ruin, I 
am afraid ; but it seems so strange that this 
crime should have been committed the night 
of my departure from home.” 

“It just happened so, I think, for I was 
never able to find that either your brother or 
Halter had any knowledge that you were 


A JiOMAJVTIC HISTOBY. m 

going to leave, or that you intended to stop 
with i\Ir. Pepper.” 

“ They could not have known it for I 'did 
not myself,” was the reply. 

“ Then the larceny was committed for the 
money alone, and they seized the circum- 
stances surrounding you as a shield for them- 
selves.” 

“I suppose so,” said Theophilus. 

“ If we both live, I feel sure the whole mat- 
ter will be explained,” continued Dick. 

“I hope so, but it pains me to learn that 
my mother has grieved so much about me.” 

“ She has defended you against the charge 
on all occasions, and her words and actions 
have done much to push me forward in the 
matter. But your father’s declining health 
has caused her additional sorrow.” 

“Father has always been of a strong con- 
stitution, and I was not aware, till you told 
me, that his illness was so serious.” 

“From what Mr. Flint has written me, I 
think he is very low and not likely to live 
long.” 

‘ ‘ What is the nature of his sickness ? ” in- 
quired Theophilus. 

“It is disease of the heart, to which is 
added his trouble about you and your brother, 
for Samuel it seems is not in good health, or 
at least despondent,” was the answer. 

‘ ‘ Does my father yet believe me guilty ? ” 

“ I think he does.” 

“ Has he had any information that Samuel 
and Halter were the guilty parties?” 

“ I think not.” 

“Then, Dick, it would be far better, and 
cause him less pain and trouble, to withhold, 


180 


TimoPlIIL US WALLOP. 


for the present at least, the knowledge of the 
circumstances existing against them.” 

“It can do no harm to leave him in igno- 
rance of that matter, and might aggravate his 
illness,” answered Dick. 

‘ ‘ I think I ought to write my father at 
once, and relieve his mind all I can as to my- 
self, what do you say ? ” 

“ Yes, for you may never see him again, 
and you would always regret it if he should 
die believing you guilty, when you might 
have disabused his mind on the subject.” 

“I will write him the first thing in the 
morning;” and with this remark both men 
gazed eastward and discovered the first rays of 
the morning appearing. They went back to 
the tent and laid down on a blanket where 
Dick was soon sound asleep. It was different 
with the young captain, for the story given 
him by his friend had filled him with a new 
hope which drove all eflforts at sleep away. 
He lay with his eyes wide open, and went over 
in his mind the story given him and an- 
alyzed it in all its bearing. 

Had it not been for the intelligence of his 
father’s serious illness, he would have been in 
a state of absolute ecstasy, but this fact ren- 
dered him uneasy, for in his heart there dwelt 
a son’s affection for a parent, and he desired 
that parent might live to be fully convinced of 
his innocence. He quietly got up from the 
hard ground on which he was lying, while the 
morning sun was creeping over the eastern 
hills, and taking Dick’s writing material from 
his knapsack, wrote his father the following 
letter : 


A liOMAJVTJC IIISTOll'^. 181 

“ Vicksburg, Miss., May 23 , 1863 . 

“Dear Father: — I have just learned of 
your bad health, Avhich I fear is in a measure 
increased by sorrow occasioned by charges 
against me of the commission of a crime at 
tlie time I left home. 

“This cruel and false charge has made my 
existence miserable for almost three years, 
but thanks to a kind providence and faithful 
friends, unmistakable evidences of my inno- 
cence are in the possession of honest men 
who will produce them in court at the proper 
time. To be more specific, I am assured that 
the' horse which carried the thief to and from 
Mr. Pepper’s house the night of the crime is 
well known, and the reticule which contained 
the money has been found, in the possession 
of others, with Mrs. Pepper’s name upon it. 
These articles will be produced with a chain 
of circumstances which will conclusively show 
that others, not I, are the guilty parties. If 
the Great Father above shall spare my life 
till I receive an honoralde discharge from my 
country’s service, I will come at once and 
meet this charge, and successfully and truth- 
fully prove myself not guilty. You mny not 
be living when this occurs and I implore you 
to have faith in my honesty, and not go to the 
grave believing me a thief. 

“In conclusion, I call upon the Savior of men 
to witness the truth of my innocence and pray 
that you may believe me. 

“ Tell mother that I think of her kindness 
to me in day time and dream of her at night, 
and that I pray the good angels to keep watch 
over her in her many troubles. 

“ Your affectionate son, 

‘ ‘ Theophilus W allop. ” 


182 


THEOPHIL US wallop. 


Joe awoke as Theopliilus was fiiiisliing his 
letter, a soldier’s ])reakfast was prepared and 
the three former schoolmates and fast friends 
enjoyed the meal and each other’s company till 
the middle of the forenoon, when Theopliilus 
mailed his letter and took his departure for 
his own command. Other letters were writ- 
ten to different parties by the three comrades, 
and they continued to visit each other till the 
surrender of the city in July following. 

CHAPTER XYIII. 

Charlene Rivers had arrived at Mr. Clay- 
born’s. She was a lovely girl, somewhat taller 
than Nellie, with brown eyes and hair, a round, 
plump hice, and complexion white as the lily, 
with rose-tinted cheeks. Her form was slen- 
der and symmetrical, while her voice was soft 
and musical. She was not gay and sprightly 
at this time, for her recent sorrow, occasioned 
by the loss of a kind mother, and her own depart- 
ure from the friends of her childhood, gave her 
somewhat the appearance of a newly-traiis- 
planted flower. 

Her hands were not jeweled, and she wore 
the dress of a neatly-attired country girl. Nel- 
lie had decorated each of the two large rooms, 
prior to her arrival, with flowers reared by her 
own hands in the little garden south of the 
house. The day after her arrival was lovely 
indeed. It was the latter part of May, when 
Nature was just putting on her garb of beauty, 
and the fragrance of the tender rose was wafted 
on the gentle breeze. The bees were hum- 
ming and darting from blossom to blossom 
while the two cousins were walking among the 


A BOMAJV^TIC HISTORY. 


183 


sweet clover looking for stems with four leaves, 
when Miss Rivers glanced over the green fields, 
and remarked : 

‘‘What a lovely country home you have 
here, Miss Clayborn.” 

“ Yes, it is very nice ; but you must call me 
Nellie, for we are to be sisters.” 

“ That will be nice, for I have been so lone- 
some of late.” 

‘ ‘ AYe all feel lonely and sad because of this 
dreadful war,” answered Nellie. 

“ It is much worse among the people of the 
South, for they are in the midst of it,” said 
Charlene, sadly. 

“That is true; but my only brother is a 
soldier and I feel anxious on his part.” 

“ Certainly, but I do not think the South 
can hold out much longer, for they are cer- 
tainly in the wrong and should not have begun 
the struggle ; besides, they are not entirely 
united, while you people are.” 

“Are there many union people where 3’^ou 
lived?” 

“ O yes, a great many ; but they are com- 
pelled to keep quiet or leave, and many are 
forced into the army against their wills.” 

“ Poor men, they are to be pitied.” 

“ Do your soldiers ever come home?” 

‘ ‘ J oseph has never been home since he en- 
listed.” 

“ You get letters from him, I suppose? ” 

“ Yes, quite often, and I must write to him 
to-day and tell him of my new sister, for I know- 
lie wall be glad that I have someone to keep 
me company wdiile I am waiting his return.” 

“ May I help you, Nellie, and write some in 
your letter?” 


184 


TIIEOPJIIL US WALLOP. 


‘‘ Yes, and he will be so glad to know you, 
even by letter.” 

The two had retraced their steps, and were 
seated at the little stand table, writing their 
joint letter, when Mr. Flint rode down near 
the house and asked if Mr. Clayborn was at 
home. Nellie told him that her father was in 
the field, and proposed to go after him, but 
Mr. Flint suggested that as he was in a hurry he 
would ride to the field, and started in a “ lope.” 
Soon Mr. Clayborn come to the house with the 
announcement that Mr. Wallop was not ex- 
pected to live through the day and desired to 
see him. He caught his horse and in company 
with Mr. Flint went over to Mr. Wallop’s res- 
idence, while the two girls completed their 
letter. 

Mr. Wallop, after the burning of his former 
dwelling, had built a somewhat rudely con- 
structed house of two rooms and a summer 
kitchen, for he never was a man that believed 
in laying out large sums of money in fine build- 
ings. There was a stillness and quiet about 
the premises which causes a solemn feeling to 
possess one, as the two neighbors approached 
and fastened their horses. 

On entering the sick-room, Mr. Clayborn 
saw and shook hands with Brother Thornbush, 
Mrs. McSquint, Samuel, Halter, and Mrs. Wal- 
lop, who were situated miscellaneously about 
the room. 

“ Good morning, Mr. Wallop,” said Mr. 
Clayborn, stooping down over his sick neigh- 
bor and taking him by the hand. 

“ I ’m mighty bad, Clayborn, and this here 
misery (pointing to his breast) is takin’ me 
off.” 


A BOM ANTIC HISTORY. 


185 


“ He has pil-lusery pains, I think,” chimed 
in Mrs. McSquint. “ Don’t disturb the cawdled 
cabbage leaves I have put on his left ribs.” 

“No, no,” said the weak man, “it is my 
heart.” 

“ I am sorry to know you are sutfering so,” 
said Mr. Clayborn, not noticing the remark of 
Charity. 

“ I sent over for you, Clayborn, becase I 
wanted you to read to me a letter I got from 
my boy this mornin’, becase my old woman 
can’t read good, and maybe you can tell what’s 
best to do.” 

Mrs. Wallop, with ej^es bedimmed with tears, 
handed Mr. Clayborn the letter written by The- 
ophihis from Vicksburg a few days before. 

Mr. Clayborn read the letter in a clear, 
strong voice, and emphasized those points which 
referred to the proofs of the young man’s inno- 
cence. It was the first time he had seen the 
letter, and his voice was a little tremulous as 
he read the few last pathetic sentences. He 
laid it on the bed, and looking into the face 
of his djdng neighbor, said : 

“Mr. Wallop, that is the kind of letter I 
would be pleased to receive if my boy had 
been placed in the situation yours has.” 

‘ ‘ The letter reads well enough,” said Brother 
Thornbush. 

“ I don’t believe everything that is writ out 
well,” said Charity. 

“ You don’t know everything about the mat- 
ter either,” interposed Mr. Flint, who, for the 
first time, had taken his eyes off of Samuel 
and Halter’s pale faces. 

“ Well, well, I do hope he can prove him- 
self clar, but I don’t .go much on letters, I 


186 


THEOPHILUS WALLOP. 


don’t,” said Charity, as slie placed her hand 
firmly on her face, while her foot marked time 
at a double-quick speed. 

“ I want to be alone with Clayborn a bit,” 
said Mr. Wallop, while the beads of perspira- 
tion besprinkled his pale brow. The parties 
all got up to leave the room, but it was evi- 
dent that Brother Thornbush and Charity were 
not exactly satisfied with the request, for Char- 
ity admonished Mr. Clayborn not to interfere 
with the cabbage leaf, for Mr. A^allop knew 
it was the only thing that gave him relief. 
She was alarmed for fear something might hap- 
pen in her absence, so she whispered to Mrs. 
Wallop at least twice before she could leave. 
Brother Thornbush bent tenderly over- Mr. 
Wallop and advised him not to talk too much, 
for he was weak and any excitement might 
hurry him into eternity. The room was finally 
cleared, and Mr. Clayborn sat fanning the dy- 
ing man, who was resting with a view to a few 
words with his neighbor as to his absent son. 

“ It’s most three years since I seed that boy 
that writ me that good letter,” said Mr. Wal- 
lop, faintly. 

“ Yes, I know he has been gone about that 
long,” said Mr. Clayborn. 

‘ ‘ I have been thinkin’ that maybe you could 
tell me sumpin that would help me in my 
trouble about whether Theophilus stole Mrs. 
Pepper’s money, an’ when I got that letter I 
got Flint to go for you.” 

“If I can do you any good in the matter, or 
relieve your mind, I will be really glad to do 
so,” said Mr. Clayborn, kindly. 

“ You have hearn that I made a will cuttin’ 
the boy oflT, I reckon ? ” 


A tlOM ANTIC HISTORY. 


187 


“ Yes, I have heard so.” 

“ AVell, if he’s not guilty I want to change 
tlie will, for he was a good boy as anybody’s, 
and I am not feelin’ satisfied eggs-zackly.” 

“ Do you wish my candid opinion as to the 
boy’s guilt ? ” 

“Yes, Clayborn, and all you know about 
it, for I don’t believe you will say nothin’ that 
isn’t right.” 

“ I certainly could not be guilty of deceiv- 
ing one in your condition about a matter of 
such importance to you ; and I say to you, as 
a disinterested man, that I am fully satisfied 
of the innocence of Theophilus. My opinion 
is not based on this good letter of his alone, 
but on facts which have come to my knowledge, 
which I am not now at liberty to give in 
detail.” 

“ Can’t you tell me something more’n that ? ” 

“ 1 can say,” said Mr. Clayborn, after a mo- 
ment’s reflection, “ that I have seen the reti- 
cule with Mrs. Pepper’s name on it in which 
the money was placed at the time it was stolen, 
and it was found since the larceny where The- 
ophilus could not have put it.” 

“ That’s what he talks of in the letter,” said 
Mr. Wallop. 

“Yes, but I did not know that your son 
knew of the fact till I read his letter.” 

“Thank you, Clayborn, thank you; for I 
have not done the boy jestice these three years ; 
for I thought he was the thief when the old 
woman stuck to it that he was not.” 

“ She has certainly been right and you have 
been in error,” said ilr. Clayborn. 

“ Poor boy ! I used to flog him purty hard 
when he was growin’ up, and he was like his 


188 


THEOPHILUS WALLOP. 


mammy. It hurt his feelin’s so bad. I could 
a done better in trainin’ him.” 

“ I never inquired the reasons for his leav- 
ing home,” said Mr. Clayborn. 

“ Well, his mammy used to beg me not to 
whip the boy and said it made him want to go 
’way ; but my daddy had teached me that way, 
and Brother Thornbush often said if I did not 
use the rod he would come to ruin ; but I think 
I could a done better.” 

“Yes, we are all likely to make mistakes, 
and perhaps you was a little too strict with 
him,” was Mr. Clayborn’s reply. 

“ If I could jest live to see him I could die 
better ; but the time is near for me to go, and 
I want you to tell the boy, if ^mu ever see him, 
that his daddy loved him and believed him 
honest and not guilty of the crime. Do that 
for me, Clayborn, and the boy will thank you, 
as well as his daddy, for he is tender-hearted, 
and I know he wants to know I feel that way.” 

Mr. Clayborn nodded assent to the request, 
and the eyes of both were dim with tears. 
Mr. Wallop rested a moment, and then re- 
sumed : 

‘ ‘ I want to change my will , so that the boy 
will get his share of my estate, and when that 
is done I feel that I may go to rest.” 

“ You can do that by making a new will,” 
replied Mr. Clayborn. 

“ Yes, but I want Theophilus to know that 
I tore the old one up.” 

“ Where is the will? ” asked Mr. Clayborn. 

“ Brother Thornbush has it.” 

“Then I would call him,” said Clayborn, 
noticing that Mr. Wallop breathed faster. 

“Yes, have it done quick.” Mr. Clayborn 


A BO^fAJV^TIC IIISTOBY. 


189 


at once motioned the minister to come to him 
from near the front gate where he was stand- 
ing. 

“ Mr. 'Wallop desires to speak to you,” said 
Mr. Cl ay born, which remark being heard by 
the sick man, he said : 

“ Brother Thornbush, I want to tear up that 
will I made, and make another, will you get 
it for me ? ” 

“ Certainly, Brother lYallop, I will do any- 
thing you desire in the matter, but are you 
sure you had not better have some advice from 
your best friends about it before you make a 
seriaus change in your worldly affairs?” 

“ 1 want to change the will, and my time is 
too short to argy the thing again,” said the 
weak man. 

“ Very w^ell. Brother 'W^allop, if you are de- 
termined in the matter I must bring you the 
will,” so saying he left the house for his own 
home some three quarters of a mile distant. 
He had scarcely got out of sight, when Mr. 
Clayborn beckoned those present to the bed- 
side, for he had noticed a sudden change in 
Mr. 'Wallop’s condition. A heavy, cold sweat 
had overspread the haggard face, the lips were 
closed, and the half-open eyes had assumed a 
glassy appearance. A slight twitching of the 
muscles of the bony face and one long gasp for 
the breath that sustains life on this earth, and 
Anthony Wallop was dead. 

There was deep grief on the part of the 
stricken wife, for though Mrs. 'Wallop was 
several years younger than her imsband, she 
had been his companion for a quarter of a cen- 
tury and long since ^ot used to his odd notions. 


190 


TIIEO P niL US WALL OP. 


To her he had manifested many good qualities 
not known to the outside world. 

Mrs. McSquint, on learning that death had 
actually occurred, became hysterical with ap- 
pearance of grief, whether from her sympa- 
thetic nature or from force of habit, no one can 
tell. Brother Tliornbush returned in due time 
with the will, but alas ! too late, for the tes- 
tator was dead. He carefully kept the docu- 
ment in his pocket, and after placing his hand 
on the dead man’s forehead, in a tone of great 
seriousness, said to Charity : 

“Sister, an all-wise Providence shapes our 
ends better than we know how to do.” 

“ Yes, yes,” answered Mrs. McSquint, not 
knowino^ how Brother Tliornbush intended to 
apply his remark, “ when Hiram was took off 
with the janders I reckon it was intended that 
he should go that way.” 

“ You do not understand me, sister, I mean 
that there has been a special providence in 
this case.” 

“ O yes, I always use them when I can’t get 
the roots and yearbs I want,” said Charity, re- 
ferring to the cabbage leaf she had wilted and 
placed on Mr. Wallop’s side in the morning. 

“ My dear sister,” said the minister, with an 
effort at composure, “I am not speaking of tan- 
gible medicines and appliances with which we 
heal the sick, nor of earthly agencies, but of 
that invisible hand and power which often 
comes without our bidding, and steps between 
this earthly tabernacle with its weakness and 
folly and its grave and serious errors.” 

“ Umph-umph,” answered Charity, with liut 
a very slight idea of his meaning. 

“ To be entirely plain, I had gone to get 


A nOMANTIC HISTOliY. 


191 


the will, at the request of the deceased, in 
which he had disinherited his ungrateful son 
who had stolen your sister’s money, for the 
purpose no doubt to destroy it and make one 
in its stead by which the wayward young man 
would have been restored to a share in his fa- 
ther’s property and to his former family rela- 
tions, but a wise Providence has removed him 
before he could commit the error.” 

“ Surely it w^as foreordained,” said Charity, 
in a whisper, for others were coming into the 
room . 

Brother Thornbush, having thus delivered 
himself, in company with Mrs. McSquint pro- 
ceeded to the duty of condoling with Mrs. 
Wallop, and left the corpse to be taken care 
of by Mr. Clayborn and Mr. Flint. 

Mr. Clayborn was indeed sorry that Mr. 
Wallop had died so suddenly, for he knew that 
it was a good and pure motive which prompted 
the dying man to desire to set his son right, 
both as to his estate and his good name. He 
resolved in his own mind, however, that if he 
ever saw Theophilus he would repeat to him 
his father’s dying words ; and though he felt 
that the young man was cut off from his just 
inheritance, yet would he love and respect his 
father for his good words and intention to re- 
store him as a member of his family. 

The funeral and interment Avere to occur on 
the following afternoon, and Charity appointed 
herself mistress of ceremonies, as well as chief 
mourner. All persons were instructed to go 
on tiptoe and the conversation to be conducted 
in a whisper. Samuel and Jerry did not come 
about the house much, but there were many 
indications of sorrow depicted in their faces. 


192 


TBEOPHIL ITS WALLOP 


Brother Tliornbusli had early gone to his home 
to prepare his sermon as a tribute to the mem- 
ory of the dead. He selected the subject of 
“ Special Providences” as a theme, and stored 
his brain with illustrations and pathetic ideas 
for the occasion, for he had a few months be- 
fore lost his good wife by death, leaving him, 
and a grown-up son and daughter, to mourn 
her loss. 

The people came from quite a distance to 
attend the funeral ; and when the hour for the 
sermon arrived, and after Charity had led off 
and sung “ A charge to keep I have,” in a tone 
so high that even the wai*t on her nose turned 
scarlet, the good man entered upon his dis- 
course. 

He spoke of the deceased’s early life, his 
removal to Indiana, and his accumulation of 
worldly goods, not forgetting his religious du- 
ties. He went into detail in his description of 
the over-shadowing trouble which Theophilus 
had given him by leaving his home and com- 
mitting a black and evil deed. He next spoke 
of the young reprobate’s last hypocritical effort 
to obtain, by a nicely-worded letter, a portion 
of his father’s earnings which he had forfeited 
by crime. He here gave Charity a significant 
look to which she nodded her approbation. 

He reached his peroration by a feeling de- 
scription of Mrs. Wallop’s great sorrow, and 
illustrated her bereavement by his own sad 
loss of a companion. Poor Mrs. McSquint ! 
This last reference was too much for her 
heaving bosom. She gave a long, despairing 
shriek, and fell to the floor, where she uttered 
in a broken voice the words ‘ ‘ Hiram ! Hiram ! 
dear Hiram ! ” until the sound of her voice 


A HOMAJVTIC niSTonY. 


193 


was lost in its own weakness. Of course she 
excited pity, and the minister lifted her quiv- 
ering form tenderly to a chair, wheVe he at- 
tempted to leave it sitting, but it required sev- 
eral efforts ; for every time he removed his 
hands from about her shoulders the trembling 
body would topple over like a doll. 

Charity’s emotions, like the turbulent waters, 
reached a calm, however, and after a few ad- 
ditional formal ceremonies, the body of An- 
thony Wallop was taken to the green field and 
buried beneath the long branches of a large 
elm tree, where it rests at this time. 

• CHAPTEK XIX. 

It would prolong our story too much, if we 
were to follow the fortunes and troubles of 
our hero and his two fellow soldiers in detail 
during the entire period of their enlistment. 
Joe and Dick were constantly together, but 
the command to which Theophilus belonged, 
often took him hundreds of miles away from 
them, and it was only when there was a con- 
centration of troops at threatened points that 
they were together. They could and did 
communicate by letter, not only with each 
other, but with their friends in the Xorth. 

Theophilus had learned of the death of his 
father through a letter from INIr. Clayborn 
with the details of his words and actions dur- 
ing his last hour on earth, when he had be- 
come convinced of his son’s innocence, but 
not in time to change the will and restore him 
to his inheritance. The two facts coming 
together made his heart heavy, but beneath 
the sad intelligence he felt in a measure re- 


194 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


lieved because his father had not gone to his 
grave l)elieving him a criminal. 

Theophilus was not avaricious, but the 
money he received as pay from his govern- 
ment he was saving for a start in the world, 
should he ever return to civil life. He felt 
keenly the mortification of being disinherited, 
much more so now than when he first learned 
of the fact, because a new hope had dawned 
upon his existence, besides, there was his good 
old mother left alone in the world. For her 
he felt a great anxiety, for like all young men 
who are blest in early life Avith that tender 
care always bestowed upon them by a mother, 
the fond recollection of her kind words and 
acts was always present to cheer and inspire 
him. He was anxious to be freed from the 
disgraceful charge which had so long been a 
smothering weight to his existence. 

More than one earnest letter had been writ- 
ten by him to Nellie, to which he had received 
answers assuring him of her sincere belief in 
his innocence. Her fidelity and faith in him 
under all the circumstances, and his knowl- 
edge of it, gave him new vigor and filled him 
with a longing desire to again mingle with the 
friends at home. 

He was sitting alone at his quarters at 
Kingston, Georgia, long after “ tattoo ” had 
been sounded, wrapped in his own medita- 
tions, where all was still and quiet with the 
moon shining in upon him from the east. He 
was busy with his own reflections, for the 
command was not apprehensive of danger, it 
being after the city of Atlanta had been taken 
by General Sherman. He had received his 
mail, bringing him a tender letter from his 


A HOMAJVTIC HISTOEY, 


195 


mother, as well as another which made his 
manly heart throb with love and pride. His 
surroundings were peculiar, and he was reflect- 
ing to himself as to what the future might 
have in store for him. 

There was his mother left a widow with no 
one to comfort her at home, for his brother 
was of so cold and cruel a nature as to bring 
darkness and not sunshine to her troubled life. 
He, himself, stood charged with a crime which 
had brought shame and disgrace upon her, 
and at present it was impossible for him to 
emerge from it, and the chances for him to 
survive the war were extremely doubtful. 
While thus sadly thinking and speculating as 
to his future, he felt a kind of uneasy sensa- 
tion creeping over him as he sat on his lonely 
stool. Many a poor fellow has experienced it 
— not a feeling of fear or cowardice, but one 
that something serious is going to happen, a 
kind of warning of approaching danger. He 
was trying to remove the melancholy feeling 
and look to a time when there would be no 
war, when he would be a free and happy citi- 
zen and an honored soldier and the possessor 

of when the long roll, the signal of 

danger, broke in upon his meditations like the 
piercing thunder, while the bugle’s signal to 
arms echoed against the hill, l)ringing every 
officer from his quaHers and every soldier 
from his “bunk.” The order “To Altoona 
at once ” was passed from officers to men and 
soon the regiment was in line. A long train 
of box and flat cars was soon heavily loaded 
with soldiers, and within the next two hours 
it had landed its burden at its destination. 
The remainder of the night was spent in dig- 


196 


TIIEOPIIIL US WALL OP. 


ging rifle-pits and preparing for the next day’^ 
battle, for the Confederate General Hood had 
the little garrison almost surrounded. 

While the regiment to which Captain Wal- 
lop belonged was hurrying to Altoona, the 
command to which Joe and Dick were at- 
tached was camped at a point called Ettowa 
Bridge, only three miles north of the place. 
It formed a part of the army which had been 
left in the rear of Atlanta to guard the rail- 
road leadins: back to Chattanoofj^a. 

Dick was fond of scouting and had reduced 
the art of foraging to a science. He took 
orreat delight in bringing about a change of 
diet from beans and rice to chicken, cured 
ham, or sweet potatoes, the scarcity of which 
made them the more palatable. He would 
often get a permit and climb the high hills 
and mountains to exchange a pint of govern- 
ment coffee with a lone citizen for a canteen 
full of fresh buttermilk. On the day preced- 
ing, and in the afternoon of the day of the 
attack on Altoona, which occurred in the first 
Aveek of October, 1864, Corporal Spooner 
was ordered to take a squad of six men Avith 
a team and go some miles south of the camp 
and secure a load of corn and such other 
articles of food for man and beast as he might 
be able to find in tlie country. He struck out 
Avith his little command, of Avhich Joe made 
one of the number, and had gone some five 
miles in a south Avesterly direction. They had 
partially loaded their wagon, when Dick dis- 
covered some very fresh signs of a recent 
camp, where it was evident a considerable 
force had stopped over night. He Avas at a 
loss to understand what troops could have 


A liOMAJ^TIC HISTORY. 


197 


been quartered there, for at that time no 
Union soldiers were stationed away from the 
railroad. He was not long in doubt, how- 
ever, for on glancing in the direction of his 
own camp he saw coming toward him a com- 
pany of cavalry, dressed in the Confederate 
uniform and only about a hundred yards away. 
He ordered his men to fire at them, and at 
once a half-dozen shots echoed against the 
eastern hill which had the effect to check the 
advancing company. It was momentary only, 
for in a short space of time the whole com- 
pany deployed and prepared to make a charge 
on the little party. It was the first time in 
Dick’s experience as a soldier when he was 
called on by reason of his superior rank as an 
officer, to take charge as commander-in-chief of 
the field. He was not a West Point graduate, 
and not versed in the best tactics to follow 
when suddenly attacked by superior forces. 
He had, however, read enough to know that 
it is sometimes wiser to retreat than to make 
a vigorous stand, and as the^ thick under- 
growth of timber at the foot of the hill was 
but a short distance, he gave the command to 
“double-quick march,” and at the head of 
his entire force dashed across the open space 
leading to the hill on the east at a speed com- 
mendable for so young and inexperienced an 
officer. The team, of course, was left to the 
enemy, and the flying bullets from the Confed- 
erate carbines made anything but pleasant mu- 
sic to the fleeing forces of Corporal Spooner. 
The hill was reached in safety to his entire 
command, where the heavy undergrowth ob- 
scured them from the view of their pursuers. 
They reloaded their guns, gave another small 


198 


THEOPHIL US WALLOP. 


volley and parting salute to the enemy, and 
struck out again over the steep hill to the 
east. jSTo very serious elfort seemed to have 
been made for their capture, but Dick knew 
that it would be hazardous to reach his own 
camp by a direct route, and determined to go 
to the railroad at Altoona and thence north 
to the bridge. It was after dark when they 
found their way to the outer picket line of the 
forces of General Corse, at Altoona, where 
they were happy to be admitted inside their 
own lines. 

“ Halt,” said an officer, wearing a red scarf, 
addressing the squad after they had come 
inside the Federal lines, at which the small 
force stopped suddenly and presented arms to 
the officer. 

“ Where do you belong?” asked the officer, 
sternly. 

“ Ettowa Bridge,” answered Dick. 

“ What are you doing here?” was the next 
question. 

“ Trying to get back to our regiment.” 

“ Where have you been ? ” 

“ I was ordered by my colonel to take a 
team and go down in the country for forage,” 
answered Dick. 

“ Where is the team ? ” 

“The Jonnies have it,” answered Corporal 
Spooner. 

“How is that, explain yourself,” said the 
officer. “ I am in a hurry.” 

Dick gave him the details of his experience 
in a few words, when the officer again asked : 

“ Corporal, how many rebels were there?” 

“ I did not count them. Captain, for we left 
in a hurry, but judge there must have been 
more than a hundred,” 


A BOMANTIC HISTORY. 


190 


“Yon will, perhaps, have a better oppor- 
tunity to ascertain their numl)er in the next 
twenty-four hours,’’ said the officer abruptly, 
as he turned to an officer and directed him to 

take the squad to the colonel of the 

Minnesota regiment and report them to him 
for duty. 

In a little while the command of Corporal 
Spooner was merged in that of the Minnesota 
troops, where it was furnished, not with a 
warm evening supper, but with forty rounds 
of ammunition, picks and spades with which to 
dig pits to shelter them from the enemy’s bul- 
lets when they should be attacked at dawn of 
day. Dear reader, it is not the most pleasant 
recreation in the world to spend the hours 
allotted to sleep and quiet dreams in gouging 
down through green roots and gravel into the 
earth to make a hole deep enough to protect 
your body from the missiles of death hurled at 
you from the enemy’s gun, yet when an attack 
is sure, and if you are not braver than a ma- 
jority of the men who took up arms in de- 
fense of their country, you had much rather 
undergo the labor than to risk yourself as a 
fair target on terra firma. Till late in the 
after part of the night, did Corporal Spooner 
and Joe Clayborn toil side by side in digging 
their pit of safety, and finally crouched down 
in the dirt and clay, but slept only a short 
hour, when they awoke at the roar of the 
booming cannon, the first signal of the com- 
ing battle. They were unfortunately situ- 
ated on the first rise of the hill where they 
must be first attacked to reach the little fort. 
The struggle was begun with musketry in 
front, with scattering shots like the big drops 


200 


THEOPHIL US WALLOP. 


of rain that precedes the storm, then came a 
lull and terrible silence, during which the siin 
came forth in resplendent glory and shone 
sadly on the tops of the distant hills. Sud- 
denly a dark cloud closed down over the eartli 
and Nature’s brow knit as she frowned her 
disapproval of the tragedy of war. 

Again the battle opened with great vigor on 
the south and at the foot of the hill. 

It was a determined assault to capture the 
fort on the top of the elevated ground, but the 
rifle-pits were held by the Union forces with 
great bravery. Two hours of desperate fight- 
ing and bravery on the part of the Confeder- 
ates brought them up to the main line of de- 
fense, and a charge of desperation brought the 
two contending forces together, and with 
superior numbers General Hood secured the 
first line of rifle-pits with quite a number of 
prisoners. It was in the great efl’ort then 
made to repulse the advancing foe, that Joe 
Clayborn rose from his place of temporary 
safety to reload his empty gun, and in quick 
succession received two painful wounds, one 
in the arm near the shoulder, the other in his 
leg below the knee, shattering the bone. 
Poor Joe ! he fell back in the pit faint and 
weak. ■ Dick hurriedly wrapped his handker- 
chief around the bleeding leg, but before he 
had time to stop the blood from the arm, the 
enemy had passed over the entrenched line and 
the two companions found themselves prison- 
ers of war. Joe was hurriedly taken back 
into the dense forest where lie was laid behind 
the trunk of a tree, beyond the reach of the 
bullets from his friends, which were makinof 
the woods and timber ring with their fearful 


A BOM ANTIC IIISTOBY. 


201 


music. Dick was taken , to liis wounded com- 
rade by two Confederate soldiers to whom he 
had surrendered when Joe received his wounds. 

He stooped over his comrade and hastily 
whispered to him : 

“I’ll come to your aid soon, if possible,” 
but no sooner was his stooping noticed by his 
guards, than one of them turning his gun on 
him with fixed bayonet exclaimed : 

“Look here, Yank, if you don’t want this 
run through you, you had better hump it to 
the rear.” 

“ You can’t be in any greater hurry than I 
am to get away from here,” said Dick, as he 
took up his line of march in front of his cap- 
tors. 

He was marched some distance and halted 
among quite a number of prisoners, who like 
himself had been captured in the last fierce 
charge. Here he remained until late at night 
hungry, weak, and distressed, more on account 
of his wounded companion than himself. Had 
it not been for his anxiety about Joe, Dick 
would probably have taken his imprisonment 
and capture philosophically, and been better 
contented to walk in front of a loaded gun as 
the others did ; but from the moment his com- 
panion fell bleeding at his feet, he determined 
to escape if possible. It was not till after 
dark, that the Confederate commander gave 
up in despair his effort to subdue the little 
garrison, when he pulled av^ay his army and 
started in a southwesterly direction leaving 
the brave and heroic General John M. Corse 
with his gallant little command still holding 
the fort. It was indeed a forlorn and sor- 
rowful procession which Dick Spooner joined. 


202 


THEO PHIL US WALLOP. 


weak and exhausted, when at the liour of ten 
o’clock at night, he with the other prisoners 
was ordered in line by a heavy guard. He 
felt but little inclined to march, and had al- 
ready made up his mind to take a .great risk 
rather than be a prisoner. The troops first 
followed a well-beaten road, with now and then 
a piece of woods and thicket on either side. 
He guessed they had marched some three or 
four miles, and he was so weak and tired that 
nothing but his hope of escape buoyed him 
on. He noticed his immediate escort was 
much worn out from the day’s fatigue, and 
was carrying his gun swung across his shoul- 
der with the muzzle downward. The bushes 
were but a few feet from the road, and he 
darted into them like a scared rabbit and ran 
for dear life in a northerly direction. Two 
blunt musket reports rang out on the night 
air, in his rear, but instead of checking him 
they only made him go the faster till he 
reached a comparatively safe place to hide. 

Here he stopped to get his breath and wipe 
the blood from his face which he had scratched 
in coming in contact with the brush through 
which he had run. He waited some little 
time till the noise of the retreating army 
grew faint in the distance. Once he caught 
himself dropping to sleep, but the thought of 
his wounded companion aroused him and he 
started north, taking the moon for a guide. 
Everything was still and the excitement of his 
escape, and the hope that he might relieve Joe, 
gave him strength to push forward believing 
he might reach the railroad at a point north 
of Altoona. After nearly an hour’s travel 
through brush and woods, he was much sur- 


A B03fAWTIC HISTOBY. 


203 


prised to recognize the spot where the even- 
ing before he and his little squad came so near 
being captured. He well knew the road from 
this point to his own regiment and determined 
to go to it, if he found that it still occupied 
the place where he left it. He was very cau- 
tious and listened carefully to learn that he 
was not among the enemy, and finally reached 
his own camp which had not been molested by 
the Confederates. 

It did not take him long to wake his cap- 
tain and secure a detail of four men of his 
own company to go in search of his wounded 
companion. He filled his haversack with 
crackers and salt pork which he devoured as 
the party made their way back to Altoona, 
and down into the forest, where poor Joe was 
suffering great pain, especially from the wound 
in his leg. 

“ Joe,” said Dick, “ here is some water,” 
and he placed the mouth of his canteen to the 
feverish lips of his wounded comrade. 

“ Dick, is it you?” said Joe, as he held out 
the hand of his well arm. 

“It is nobody else, and the tionnies are 
gone, I escorted them out a few miles, but 
have come back to you as I promised, and 
these are some of the boys of our company 
who came with me to help you back to camp 
where we can take better care of you, and we 
are now going, to put you on this litter as 
easily as possible.” They took him to the 
barracks where his leg was splinted and band- 
aged and his wound in the arm dressed, which 
happily proved to be a flesh wound merely. 

When this had been done Dick dropped 
down exhausted and was soon sound asleep, 


204 


THE O PHIL US WALL OP. 


where he was allowed to remain till late in the 
morning, while the comrades did all in their 
power to relieve the suftering of their com- 
rade. 

Captain Wallop had no idea that his two 
bosom friends were near the little garrison at 
Altoona, and Joe and Dick were ecjuall}^ 
ignorant that Theophilus was taking i)art in 
the long to be remembered little 1)attle. The- 
ophilus with his regiment had been placed on 
the west, while Dick and Joe had been put 
with the forces on the south. The battle had 
raged all the day with great fury, but The- 
ophilus was nearer the fort than his two 
friends, and the fighting grew fiercer as the 
Confederates closed in closely around the bar- 
racks. Many times during the day did the 
enemy charge the little garrison, but with 
numbers greatly inferior to the Confederates 
the Federal troops stubbornly contested every 
inch of ground. Their commander was Inave 
and fearless, and though wounded in the face 
he urged his men to hold the fort or die in 
the ditches. It was late in the afternoon 
when General Hood made one last and ter- 
rific assault with his coml)ined forces on three 
sides of the place to bring it to a surrender. 
A most hideous yell rent the air, the roar of 
cannon was deafening, while the enemy’s mus- 
kets sent forth a storm of bullets. It was now 
a deadly and awful struggle at close range, 
and the men on either side were falling like the 
leaves of autumn. The color bearer of Cap- 
tain Wallop’s company with many others was 
killed, and the national flag went down amid 
the victorious shout of the attacking party 
in front ; but Theophilus seized the shattered 


A liOMAN'I^lC niSTOBY. 


205 


Btaft' of tlie national colors, waved the em- 
blem high in the air, and spoke words of 
encouragement to his followers. Yet the bat- 
tle raged with great fury and men were fall- 
ing on every hand. The cannons belched 
forth their messengers of death sweeping the 
patriots off into eternity. A volley of mus- 
ketry, like a thousand blasts touched oft* at 
once, was fired as a last effort ])y the Confed- 
erates, as they came from the woods and 
underbrush near by, with deadly eft’ect. Cap- 
tain Wallop turned deathly })ale, reeled and 
fell heavily into the ditch, for a minie-ball 
had passed through his body. 

Soon the shades of darkness overspread the 
bloody scene. The battle was ended and 
General Hood defeated, leavins: most of his 
dead and wounded on the field. 

There is no more horrible sight for the gaze 
of mortal than that of a battlefield soon after 
the conflict is ended. 

The earth is ploughed up, the underbrush 
cut and torn, while the large timber is splin- 
tered and furrowed by the ferocious cannon 
ball. 

There is an anxious and careworn look 
upon the faces of the living which inspires 
one with a feeling of awful solemnity, while 
the groans of the dying chill the blood and 
pierce the heart with sorrow. 

The bloody and ghastly dead scattered over 
the ground amid the timber, present a sicken- 
ing scene too horrible for description. Poor 
wounded soldier ! How he languishes, in his 
own blood begging for water, when there is 
none to help him. How cruel to suffer and 
die with no tender hand or word to give relief 


TI{i:OPHlL Tfs WALL OP. 


m 

or comfort in liis last hour, hut such is the 
result of bloody strife. 

CHAPTER XX. 

After Anthony Wallop had been laid away 
in the quiet grave, and after the good neigh- 
bors had dispersed, and even the bereaved 
widow had surrendered her dead to mother 
earth, Charity lingered about the mound of 
red clay which covered the remains moaning, 
and refused to be comforted until Brother 
Thornbush took her by the arm and led her 
back across the green fields to the late resi- 
dence. She leaned upon the good man’s arm 
with that heavy, heart-broken pressure which 
indicated her absolute need of someone to sup- 
port her. Several times, as the twain moved 
slowly along, she gently squeezed his hand and 
kept her heaving bosom near where he carried 
his ‘‘London runner” watch. Of course the 
minister felt sorry for the nervous and trem- 
bling form which now moved so slowly and 
leisurely by his side, and did what he could to 
make her feel that he was doing his duty to 
soothe the sorrow of one of his flock. 

“I always try, in my humble and feeble 
manner,” said Brother Thornbush, “to speak 
in my discourses in such a way as to bring balm 
and consolation to the afflicted and heart- 
stricken mortals under my charge.” 

“You do use the most techin’ words and 
lusterations in your sarments I ever hearn in 
my life,” said Charity, as she nestled a little 
closer to her escort. 

“ Sister, do you really become infatuated 
with the power of my eloquence ? ” 


A nOMANTIC HISTORY. 


207 


“ Yes, I l)elieve I would g^lufat if I was not 
so lonesome,” said Charity, tenderly. 

“Yes,” said he, “you, like myself, have 
been taught the lessons of sore and deep afflic- 
tion, in the loss of a companion.” 

“Yes, yes, but it is nigh onto nine year 
since Hiram was took off.” 

“ I know it has been quite a while since he 
crossed the great river.” 

“ No, no. Brother Thornbush, he was talkin’ 
about goin’ to the Elinoise, but I was afeared 
for him to cross the Warbash, for he couldn’t 
swim, so he died wdth the janders without 
goin’.” 

“ I meant the river of death,” said the min- 
ister. 

“ Oh, I thought you meant the Warbash 
river ; but I have been so teched up by your 
preachin’ that I am afeared I’ve lost my under- 
stand! n’.” 

“No, no, you are just a little excited and 
nervous on account of the solemn occasion 
through which you have emerged.” 

“ Dear, dear,” said the widow, griping his 
arm again. “ Can’t you run over and see me 
some day, and eat dinner with me and Jerry, 
for I do love to have someone to talk to.” 

“ Certainly, dear sister, I will be most hap- 
py to come at any time you may desire.” 

“ Then I will look for you next Sabbath,” 
she said, as she lifted her little gray eyes to 
his, and put on as broad a smile as was possi- 
ble not to expose two elongated front teeth, 
which ordinarily performed the office of hold- 
ing her underlip in its proper place. They 
had now arrived at the house, and the minis- 
ter, after giving Mrs. Wallop a few consoling 


208 


THEOPIIIL US WALL OP. 


words, left for his home, feeling that his powers 
and ability were not unappreciated. Char- 
ity had in a comparatively short time been re- 
stored to a feeling of composure, and after ar- 
ranging the furniture for Mrs. Wallop, mounted 
her horse and went to her home, convinced 
that some comfort at le^st might be obtained 
at a funeral. 

Charity had looked to the coming event, 
when Brother Thornbush would dine with her, 
with mingled emotions of hope and pride. 

She always took pride in her ability to pre- 
pare a first-class meal, especially when she did 
her best, and on this occasion she felt that 
much depended upon her success. It was Sab- 
bath morning, and she and Jerry were l)usy in 
preparing the necessary fuel and articles for 
dinner. She had allowed Jerry, much against 
her custom, to split up a dry fence-rail for kind- 
ling ; he had also killed the hen which had 
refused to set, the big top-knot, for Charity 
knew her guest’s fondness for dumplings, and 
determined to astonish him in that regard. 
She had carefully preserved a quantity of dried 
pumpkin, and the butter she had made from 
the same fruit she imagined was hard to excel. 
Her “Sogham” molasses, as she called it, 
though a little dark, was well-flavored. 

It was a little late in the season, but she had 
heard someone in the neighborhood say that 
the minister was particularly fond of “ greens ” 
boiled with “ jole,” and with the vinegar she 
had put up for her own use she intended to 
serve a dish of the cooked vegetable which 
would give him a high opinion of her cooking 
ability. It is true this did not embrace the 
different courses to be served, for there were 


A liOMANTIC HISTORY. 


209 


the “flitters and sassafras tea,” to which was 
added both butter and sugar made by her own 
hand* Jerry could not help but notice that a 
change of some kind had come over Mrs. 
MeSquint, for she was no^v as pla3Jul as a 
child and chattered like a flutter mill. She 
had been to the village during the week, and 
supplied herself with articles of personal attire 
very unusual for her economic habits. She 
had purchased a pair of cloth gaiter shoes, bal- 
moral stockings, a new pink calico frock, a 
gingham apron, and ‘ ‘ Shaker ” bonnet. Dressed 
in all these, except the bonnet, she was skip- 
ping about the house as though she was twenty 
instead of fifty-five years of age. She had sev- 
eral times stopped in front of the mirror and 
inspected herself, but was evidently not satis- 
fied with her head-gear, and set to work on 
her clay-brown, tangled locks with a very 
coarse-toothed comb. She finally succeeded in 
getting the comb to pass through it without 
pain or labor. It did not lie down on her head 
as closely as she expected, however, and she 
was compelled to resort to a saucer of fresh 
lard before she could get it to remain as she 
desired, but she became satisfied and rolled it 
up in a knot on the back of her head and se- 
curely fastened it with her long tucking comb. 

Brother Thornbush arrived in due time, just 
as the greens and pot of hot dumplings were 
smoking upon the kitchen table. His coming 
was heralded by his peculiar habit of blowing 
his nose, which made a sound similar to that of 
a wet dinner-horn. He wore a black lustre 
coat, high standing collar, Avhite linen panta- 
loons, and plug hat, which had done service 
for him (or someone else) for lo ! these many 


210 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


years. Charity was looking her very best, for 
she had brought two small red spots to the 
surface of her swarthy cheeks by stooping over 
the fire in preparing the dinner. 

Jerry met the minister and gave him a seat 
in the front room, where Charity soon came 
with both hands extended and head bobbing up 
and down like a goose in an effort to catch the 
large drops of rain in its mouth. She plaj^- 
fully chucked the good man under the chin, 
shook his long drooping hands, much after the 
fashion a mother would a child. 

“You did come, Ja-hew,” said the smiling 
widow, assuming that familiarity characteristic 
of her when addressing very near friends. 

‘•Yes, punctuality I regard as a virtue ; and 
rigid compliance with obligations always in- 
spires confidence,” said the minister, with the 
air of one who soared in his thoughts much 
higher than the common herd. 

“ So few people have um, ” said the widow, 
feeling her inability to wrestle with the long 
sentence. 

“ External appearances indicate that you are 
enjoying rich blessings in the way of being free 
from bodily afflictions,” said he, as a compla- 
cent smile stole quietly out of one corner of his 
mouth. 

“ I feel better here (pointing to*" where she 
supposed her liver was located) , but my affeck- 
tions are as bad larserated as ever,” she re- 
plied, determined to show her guest that she 
too possessed the power of language. “ How 
is your children, poor things, since they have 
no mammy?” continued Charity, in a tone of 
absolute pity. 


A ll03fAmiC IIISTOBY. 


m 

Physically, they are robust,” was his sig- 
nificant answer. 

“ Good-ness-alive ! How did it happen, 
Jahew?” exclaimed Charity, thinking some 
calamity had happened to the two orphans. 

“ I mean that their general health has not 
been in any way impaired,” he answered, in- 
structively. 

‘ ‘ Y-a-s, I now see your meaninh My lamin’ 
don’t come to me good to-day, somehow,” said 
the widow, feeling that any attempt to keep in 
sight of her guest would be useless, and she 
hurried back to her boiling hen just as it had 
begun to burn, for of all things in the world 
she did not want to give the minister, it was 
a burnt dumpling. She, in a flutter of excite- 
ment, dashed a gourd of water into the boiling 
pot, which not only cooled the contents, but 
enough went over the sides to put out a portion 
of the fire, and to send up little clouds of smoke 
and ashes as well. 

The meal was placed upon the table, a long 
blessing invoked, which was interspersed with 
inaudible ejaculations from the hostess, and 
then followed a variety of apologies for not 
having this and that, while she was piling the 
good man’s plate full of greens, jole, chicken 
dumplings, and such other substantials as she 
thought most palatable to the taste of her dis- 
tinguished guest. Jerry was, of course, for 
the time neglected, but had time to note the 
rapidity with which the “ goodies ” were disap- 
pearing, for in all Brother Thornbush’s trouble 
he had not lost his appetite. The pious man 
finished his meal with a “ sasser” of pumpkin 
butter, as the widow termed it, on which he 
poured a cup of sassafras tea, Samuel came 


212 


TFimPlIIL US WALL OP. 


soon after the meal, when he and Jerry took a 
walk to the fields as was their custom, leaving 
Brother Thornbush reading the Bible, and 
Charity singing “ Shew pity. Lord, O Lord, 
forgive,” while she washed and dried tlie dishes. 

“ It is not polite,” thought the minister, “ to 
eat and run,” and he amused himself by turn- 
in<2: the leaves of the Bible until the widow 
should get through with the dishes. 

Charity had cleared the table and arranged 
the pots in their proper places, and had taken 
one more look at her dear self in the piece of 
broken mirror in the kitchen, and entered the 
front room just as the good man was inspect- 
ing a ]fiece of sandy hair, platted, with a yarn 
string tied around each end, formerly the prop- 
erty of Hiram McSquint. The sight of this 
little memento of her departed husband was al- 
ways the occasion for a flood of tears, and notic- 
ing it in the minister’s band, she dropped in a 
chair by the good man’s side, and locking her 
hands and })lacing them over his shoulder next 
to her, she wept on his arm while she moved 
both their bodies in a solemn rock to and fro. 
He replaced the innocent cause of the widow’s 
distress between the leaves of the book, and 
was going to speak words of consolation to the 
distressed woman, when she looked him in the 
face, and said : 

“ Ja-hew, how did you enjoy the greens we 
had for dinner ? ” 

“ It was most excellent, magnificent, I might 
say,” said he, after a moment’s hesitation, 
caused by the sudden change of feeling on the 
part of his questioner. 

“ Hiram used to say that I was the best 


A JR03fA]VTIC HISTORY. 


213 


woman to cook and patch hriches he ever seed, 
poor feller.” 

“ My deceased companion was a good woman 
in many respects, but she was not acquainted 
with the culinary art,” responded the minister 
reflectively. 

“ I never seed this Mrs. Art you speak of, 
but I dare say she couldn’t muster up a better 
hilt dinner than I can,” said Charity, fastening 
her little gray eyes on him inquiringly. 

“No,*I don’t think you have a superior in 
that line. Surely you was a great comfort to 
your husband.” 

“ He hadn’t a comfort to his nnme when 1 
married him, but he never knowed what it was 
to want anything he didn’t get afterwards,” she 
said, in a tone of utter hopelessness. 

“ You must not feel down-hearted over the 
past, where you have discharged your duty. 
Sister McSquint,” said he, consolingly. 

“ I oiien to, I know, for I have a good piece 
of land with the taxes all paid and no mortgage 
on it, with stock enough to keep me goin’ as 
long as I live, with no one to keer fur me but 
Jerry ; but of course that’s not like a com- 
p-panion, and again the poor woman rested her 
face between her hands, and a long silence fol- 
lowed. During this little interval Brother 
Thorn bush was thinking over his past life, the 
mention of the unincumbered land with ])lenty 
of’ stock, were not luxuries he had enjoyed 
through life, neither had his home been fur- 
nished with the delicacies and comforts suita- 
ble to a man of his ability and standing in the 
world. There w^as also a vision flitting through 
the feverish brain of Mrs. McSquint. She was 
looking to a period in her existence when the 


S14 


'I I lEOPtllL IfjS WALLOP. 


long summer days and winter nights might b6 
more comfortable to her ; when she should be 
blest with a second Hiram, on whose bosom 
she might nestle in day and on whose arm she 
might sleep at night. 

To be the minister’s wife was certainly an 
honor, but to ride behind him to church and 
be invited to visit all the members and lead in 
the singing, was the “ quintessence ” of bliss 
itself, in her mind. 

Like two turtle-doves the devoted pair passed 
the hazy afternoon tenderly in each other’s em- 
brace ; and as the sun was sinking in the Avest, 
and the old “ brindle ” cow was coming home 
to be milked, with Sam and Jerry in the back- 
ground, Charity, Avith one sunburnt arm around 
the high standing collar, and the hand of the 
other clasped over his bull’s-eye watch, prom- 
ised to be his devoted A\dfe, and that to occur 
in a few short weeks. This little matter set- 
tled, the happy pair repaired to the kitchen, 
Avhere the skeleton of the dinner hen was picked 
afresh, and they sopped molasses from the same 
“ sasser,” and he kissed her, and called her 
“ Charity dear,” and left her happy and serene. 

Of course, when the good man had taken his 
final leave, Mrs. McSquint told the news of 
her engagement to Jerry. He was not de- 
lighted, but remonstrated in language only 
used by the irreverent ; for he well kncAA^ that 
the accession of the minister as a memb'er of 
the family would not enhance the comfort of 
himself and companion, for the latter had aban- 
noned his mother since the death of his father. 
But it was no use to object, for Charity was 
determined and plainly told him that the min- 
ister was going to become the head of the fam- 


A BOMAJVTIC HISTOBY, 


215 


ily, and if that did not suit him he would have 
to seek another home. Thus was Jerry si- 
lenced, and on the following morning she hur- 
ried away to Surrilda, to break the glad tidings 
to her. Surrilda was not happy on learning 
that, her only sister was going to get maiTied, 
for she had nursed a hope that she and Keuben 
would yet enjoy, unmolested, the earthly goods 
left at Charity’s death, or at least, her own 
dear children would fall heir to them, rather 
than a stranger. She did not congratulate 
Charity, but instead, wept on her own apron. 
Eeuben sighed as only one can who witnesses 
wdth his own eyes the property of his wife’s 
relations slipping into the hands of others. 
After a stormy interview between the sisters, 
Charity returned to her home, feeling more 
than ever the need of a companion to support 
and comfort her in her declining years. 

Brother Thornbush, with heaving bosom, 
had hurried home to impart to his daughter 
Rachel, now seventeen years old, and his son 
Timothy, who had passed his nineteenth birth- 
day, the glad intelligence that their motherless 
days would soon be over, and that a new mother, 
in the person of Charity McSquint, was to reign 
in the family. 

Instead of the news being balm to their 
orphan souls, it fell on their ears like a thun- 
der-bolt from a clear sky. Rachel rose to her 
feet, her face full of indignation and anger, and 
in a fit of passion declared that if “ old Chat ” 
McSquint, as she had been nicknamed, ever set 
her foot in her house as her stepmother, she, 
the daughter, would leave home forever. The 
pious man tried in vain to reconcile his son 
and daughter, first by entreaty, but finally by 


213 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


threats of punishment ; yet the children would 
not agree to accept their new step-mother on 
friendly terms. Finally the minister concluded 
to practice his own preaching, and seizing his 
daughter by the arm, was in the act of inflict- 
ing a blow on her cheek with his open hand, 
when Timothy, forgetting his training, his 
namesake, and everything but his sister and 
his contemplated step-mother, laid hold of his 
father and crowded him out of the door. A 
struggle followed, and father and son engaged 
in a downright fisticufl*, which ended in the 
old o;entleman being knocked out in the fourth 
round. During the difficulty, the daughter 
secured a few extra garments, and made her 
way to Mr. Flint’s, where by accident or ap- 
pointment she met Jim Logan, to whom she 
was already engaged to be married. On the 
following day they proceeded to New Albany, 
Indiana, where a justice of the peace joined 
her and her lover together in marriage, and 
they made their home in the city. 

After the difficulty, Timothy left his home 
at once, and during the next week he enlisted 
in the 10th Indiana cavalry and served in the 
war to its close. He then came back and vis- 
ited his sister for a short time, then went to 
the state of Kansas, where he has since resided. 

Brother Thornbush was greatly chagrined 
and humiliated at the unexpected conduct of 
his disobedient children, for not only had he 
been somewhat bruised and scratched about the 
face, but there had been open rebellion against 
his parental authority. His own ^children, 
whom he had taken so much pains to teach the 
benefits of discipline, and whom he had so often 
pointed out as examples of his training, had 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


217 


openly defied his authority, for no better rea- 
son than that he was seeking to furnish them 
with a mother to take the place of the one in 
the grave. 

He passed a sleepless night in determining 
how best to bring back the wayward youth, 
but finally* concluded to let them go, and 
“ cleave unto Charity.” Many times did he 
quote from Solomon, “ All is vanity and vex- 
ation of spirit.” 

Of course he gave Charity the details of his 
troubles and difficulties, and she in turn told 
him how Jerry and Surrilda disapproved the 
marriage, and the passion of love already awak- 
ened in their mature bosoms burned afresh. 

It was when the November winds were strip- 
ping the brown and frost-bitten leaves from 
the great oak tree, when the tobacco had been 
cut and scafibld, the bean-pods grown yellow 
on the vine, the potatoes dug and buried along 
with the cabbage in the garden, tlie cockle 
burs and Spanish needles ripening, and when 
the bleat of the lonely sheep could be heard 
in the distant brier field, that Jehew Thorn- 
bush took unto himself a second wife in the 
person of Charity McSquint. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Mrs. Wallop, after the death of her hus- 
band, continued to reside at her home on her 
farm (Samuel’s as it was now generally un- 
derstood to be, subject to her interest as the 
widow). She had received letters regularly 
from Theophilus and her sad face showed 
signs of hope of his return. Samuel had 
taken charge of the stock and removed a por- 


218 


THEOPHILUS WALLOP. 


tion of it to Mrs. McSquint’s. On more than 
one occasion she tried to get him to read the 
letters she had received from Theophilus, but 
to her entreaties he only responded with 
oaths and epithets, so that between Samuel 
and his mother there was but little said, but 
like a good mother she was anxious because of 
his failing health. 

In his last letter Theophilus had said that 
he would return to her as soon as he was dis- 
charged from the army. This letter had made 
her weary heart glad, for outside of this 
})romise she felt there was but little for her 
to live for. It is true that Nellie Clayborn 
and Miss Kivers had visited her on several 
occasions, and at each visit had done much to 
cheer her drooping spirits. Mr. Flint and 
Mr. Clayborn had each tendered her a home 
with them which she had declined, prefering to 
live alone and encompass her sorrow in her 
own bosom unobserved by others. She had 
been waiting and watching for a letter from 
her “dear soldier boy” for some days, with 
that anxiety characteristic of every true 
mother. She never failed on going to bed at 
night and rising from her pillow in the morn- 
ing to pray for the safety and return of her 
absent boy. She had done her morning’s 
work and had taken her accustomed place at 
the gate next to the road leading to the vil- 
lage post-office watching for the return of Mr. 
Clayborn who had gone to get the mail. She 
saw him coming in the distance, his gait was 
hurried and her heart fluttered with hope. 

“ You have a letter. for me,” she said, seeing 
a yellow envelope in his hand. 

“No, Mrs. Wallop,” he said in a broken 


A jROjUAmiC JITSTOIiY . 21^ 

voice, “it is a telegram containing some l)ad 
news. Tlieophilus has been wounded in bat- 
tle.” 

“Eead it to me,” she exclaimed, while her 
frame shook and her face became pale. 

Mr. Clayborn hurriedl}^ tore the envelope 
open and read to the desparing mother the fol- 
lowing telegram, already familiar to himself; 

“Carteesburg, Ga., Oct. — ,1864. 

“Mrs. Anthony M^allop : — ^Your son. Cap- 
tain Theophilus Wallop, was seriously if not 
mortally wounded last night at Altoona, will 
send him north to hospital if he lives, if he 
dies will send the body home. 

“ J. C. Dill, 1st. Lieut., ‘i 
“ Capt. lYallop’s Co., — Iowa, Eegt. 

Mrs. Wallop did not faint, but she dropped 
to the earth and between her sobs, ‘’with her 
wrinkled face to the ground, she fervently 
prayed that her son might be spared. She 
pleaded in the most piteous tones to the God 
she had never failed to worship, to preserve 
her life and that of her poor wounded boy till 
she should behold him again in life as she had 
done in years gone by. Mr. Clayborn was 
much affected, but he lifted the agonized form 
from the ground and seated her in a chair 
near the house. Mr. Flint and his good wife 
who had heard the news soon came over, and 
Mr. Clayborn started slowly homeward, but 
had gotten but a short distance when a mes- 
senger hailed him from the rear. On looking 
back he saw a boy coming with an additional 
dispatch, which on his arrival he handed Mr. 
Clayborn. It read : 


220 


TIIEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


Joe wounded at Altoona yesterday in leg 
and arm, not dangerous. 

“Dick.’’ 

Again Mr. Clayborn started homeward 
with large drops of perspiration standing on 
his troubled brow. Nellie and Charlene were 
watching at the front gate. It was not nec- 
essary to read the dispatch to convince Nellie 
that her father had received bad news, for she 
read the fact in his troubled face and ex- 
claimed : 

“ What is the matter father? Is brother 
sick or hurt ? ” 

“Yes, but slightly wounded I hope,” was 
his labored re[)ly. 

Nellie seized the envelope, and with eyes 
already moistened with tears she lead Dick’s 
dispatch, and clinching it in her hand, she 
wept as if her heart would break. 

“ Do not cry, Nellie,” said her cousin, “ he 
is not dangerously wounded the telegram 
says.” 

“ Oh,” answered Nellie, “ I fear he is worse 
injured than appears from the dispatch, for 
Dick always makes serious matters appear as 
light as possible.” Again she buried her 
face in her hands and wept afresh. 

Mr. Clayborn had walked into the house 
and for some little time had engaged in a low 
conversation with his sister, his face still 
wearing a troubled expression. This Nellie 
observed and leading, she and her cousin 
went to them. 

“ Father,” said Nellie, “ you look so troub- 
led, are you afraid brother is killed? ” 

“ No, dear, I think the dispatch gives the 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


221 


true condition, but I have further news, and if 
you will be a brave little girl I will tell you.” 

“What is it, father? I will do my best,” 
she said, as she grasped her cousin’s hand for 
support. 

“ Theophihis is also seriously wounded,” 
he said, as he looked compassionately down 
into her pleading eyes. 

She dropped her gaze to the floor, a rigor 
seized and shook her little frame, the blood 
left her face, and a sigh of unutterable anguish 
escaped her fluttering bosom. No word was 
uttered by her but a look of agony and de- 
spair caused the tears to stream from Char- 
lene’s eyes, and she put her arms around the 
pale and motionless form, and together they 
walked to their room. Charlene placed her, 
colorless and tearless, in a chair by the win- 
dow. The news of Joe’s wound had awak- 
ened her sympathetic heart, and she pitied him 
and relieved her feelings in a measure by 
shedding tears, but if Theophilus was mortally 
wounded, it would be the end of her hopes 
and expectations, the climax to an unfortunate 
and fated existence. The news came with 
such a sudden and awful shock to her tender 
nature, and so crushed her feelings that tears 
were impossible. She could but moan and 
sigh. She arose from her seat and clasped her 
little white arms around the neck of her 
cousin, and in a dry husky voice asked her to 
tell her father to come to her. This Charlene 
did, and Mr. Clayborn came and looked sor- 
rowfully upon the distressed face. 

“Father,” gasped Nellie, “tell me where 
and how you got the news.” 

“ A telegram was this morning sent to Mrs, 


222 


TIlEO'nilL US WALL OP. 


Wallop by a lieutenant of the company to 
which Theophilus belonged,” was the answer. 

“ Can you give the langTiage of it?” said 
Nellie trembling. 

“Yes, dear, but you must not be excited, 
for there is hope as long as there is life,” he 
said encouragingly. 

“ Tell me the worst,” she murmured faintly. 

“ He is seriously, if not mortally wounded, 
but you must remember that many who seem 
fatally injured by gun shot recover finally.” 

“May heaven bless him,” she said, with 
quivering lips, and threw herself on the bed 
and tried in vain to cry. 

The father left the two girls to themselves, 
and all the day and night following did Charlene 
use her utmost skill to comfort the desolate 
girl. Nellie could neither eat nor sleep and 
passed her sad moments in walking the floor 
and Tvringing her hands. The third day 
brought a letter from Dick, in which he de- 
scribed the battle, his own capture, and the im- 
proved condition of Joe. He closed his letter 
with the statement that he and his wounded 
companion would in a few hours start to Lou- 
isville, Kentucky, where Joe was to be placed 
in the hospital. As both their times had 
expired he would not return to the service. 
Charlene read the letter and was disappointed 
that no mention was made of Theophilus. 
Nellie for the moment rejoiced at the im- 
proved condition of her brother, but again 
relapsed into her nervous and tearless mood. 
Another day passed, and darkness came but not 
sleep to the eyes of Nellie till nearly dawn of 
day, when an uneasy sleep overtook her. 
Charlene watched by the stricken girl ready 


A BOM ANTIC HISTOBY. 


223 


to smooth her feverisli brow, as she would oc- 
casionally start qiiiokl}^ then relapse to sleep. 
Long did she watch the sleeping girl till her 
own eyes became heav}^, and she, too, was lost 
in slumber. 

It "was long after the breakfast hour when 
Charlene aw^oke, pleased to find that her com- 
panion was yet calmly sleeping. She quietly 
arose from the bed and moved cautiously 
about the room and noticed lhat the haggard 
and careworn look had in a measure disap- 
peared from Nellie’s face. She was in the act 
of going to an adjoining room when her com- 
panion awoke and hurriedly glanced about the 
room as though she was not certain where she 
was. 

“ Nellie, you have had such a nice sleep.” 

“Yes, and I only wish I could have re- 
mained sleeping longer,” she said, as a shade 
of sorrow passed over her face. 

“Why so, Nellie?” 

“ Because I have had such a pleasant 
dream.” 

“What was it, dear,” said Charlene. 

“Bring me the picture I showed you yes- 
terday.” Charlene brought from a bureau a 
handsome picture of Captain Y allop, in his 
military uniform, wdiich he had had taken and 
sent to Nellie only a few weeks before. It 
was the likeness of a large well-proportioned 
military officer, the features clear and the face 
both handsome and generous, or at least so 
thought Charlene. Nellie gazed on the life- 
like features for a long while, and then turn- 
ing to her companion said : 

“ I believe he is yet alive.” 

“Why so?” said Charlene in astonishment. 


224 


THEOPHIL US WALLOP. 


“ I saw him in my sleep in a deep dark val- 
ley, with a great monster animal [)iirsning 
him. He was weak and pale, but he escaped 
up the hillside where he was met by a great 
many soldiers who took him up on their shoul- 
ders and carried him to a great white house 
and laid him on a soft white bed. He then 
commenced calling my name and beckoned 
to me, and I knew his voice as well as I used 
to when we were children together. I started 
to go to him and he looked toward me and 
smiled so kindly. I was gazing on his face 
when I awoke. This is why I said I wish I 
could have remained asleep.” 

Nellie now arose from her bed, and for the 
first time in three days was able to partake of 
food. After breakfast, the two cousins locked 
arms and strolled down the road, Charlene 
using all her energies to revive the drooping 
spirits of her companion and to encourage the 
slight hope inspired by the dream. 

Nellie by force of habit gazed down the 
road leading to the village post-office, and saw, 
far down, a messenger boy hurrying toward 
them. Her heart sank within her, her limbs 
trembled, and a chill ran through her very 
soul, and now too weak to stand up she sat 
down on the dry leaves. Again her cousin 
used her best efforts to encourage her, but the 
time seemed so long to them both. At last 
he reached the spot, and was in the act of 
passing them when Charlene asked him for 
whom was he looking. He drew an envelope 
from his pocket and after glancing at it an- 
swered : 

“ Miss Nellie Clayborn.” 


A BOMAJVTIC HISTOBY. 


225 


“ This is she,” exclaimed Charlene, reaching 
for the little yellow paper. 

She looked an instant at the envelope, and 
without the remotest idea of its contents, 
ventured the exclamation “good news,” for 
the look in Nellie’s face frightened her. 

She did not hand the message to its owner, 
but tore it open, and after skipping the words 
Hospital No. — , Louisville, Ky., read the dis- 
patch as follows : 

“ Am better, surgeon says he is hopeful of 
my recovery. Long ride on train did no in- 

“ Theophilus.” 

On hearing the name of the author of the 
dispatch read, Nellie though weak and faint 
arose from the ground like a bird, and clasped 
her arms around Charlene’s neck, and for the 
first time in four days tears streamed down her 
pale cheeks. She uttered the word “The- 
ophilus” in such tender accents that ])oth wept 
for joy. They dropped upon their knees and 
thanked heaven for the new hope inspired by 
the message. They prayed earnestly for the 
safe recovery of the two wounded soldiers. 
Charlene proposed that they return to the 
house and give the good news to Mr. Clay- 
born and Aunt Rose. 

“ No,” said Nellie, you go back, but I must 
go to Mrs. Wallop ; and with step and heart 
light she hurried across the pastures like a 
fairy, and found the poor distressed woman 
leaning over the gate. 

It took but a moment for Nellie to impart 
the hopeful news to the heart-broken mother, 
and a scene of joy occurred that Nellie could 


226 


TIlEOPmL ITS wallop. 


not refer to in after ^^ears without her lustrous 
eyes dimming with tears. 

It was on the Saturday evening following 
that two neatly-clad and heavily-veiled females 

called at the hospital, Louisville, Ky., and 

were admitted to the quarters of the surgeon in 
charge. 

“Is there a wounded soldier here in your 
charge by the name of Clayborn?” inquired 
the taller lady. 

“ I will ask the steward,” answered the sol- 
dier to whom the question was put. 

He went hurriedly away and soon returned 
accompanied by the steward who was no other 
than Dick Spooner. He was no longer a 
youthful boy but a handsome and manly look- 
ing soldier, a fine glowing face but somewhat 
darkened by a sovithern sun. 

“Dick, God bless you,” said Nellie as she 
raised her veil and extended her two little 
whitcdiands to him. 

For a moment he was motionless with aston- 
ishment, but recovering he impressed a kiss 
on the pale white lips now near his face. 

“Nellie, Nellie,” he exclaimed, “ how did 
you get here among these sick and wounded 
soldiers ? ” 

“ I could remain at home no longer, how is 
brother?” she said. 

“ O he’s a flying, Joe is getting well,” and 
the same fascinating smile, though now some- 
what obstructed by a neat and heavy grown 
mustache, came across his face as he answered. 

“ Can we see him?” said Nellie. 

“Not for a while for the suro^eon is dress- 

^ ^ O 

mg his wound, but be seated and I will take 
you to his cot soon.” 


A ROMAN TIG IIISTOItr. 


227 


The two ladies were in the act of taking 
seats, when Nellie said : 

“Excuse me, Dick, for I am nervous, and 
allow me to introduce you to my cousin. Miss 
Eivers.” 

Dick lifted his cap and bowed gracefully to 
the young lady who modestly returned his 
salutation, when he extended his hand and 
said : 

“ Miss Eivers, I am most happy to meet 
you, for Joe and I have talked so much about 
you that I would almost have deserted the 

S to see 3^ou.” 

hank you,” said Charlene^ blushing, 
'presume you and Nellie have been very 
^ together,” he said. 

“ Yeiy indeed,” she answered, “ until her 
recent trouble.” 

“ The occasion for trouble is now past, and 
I want to see that sweet face turn rosy again,” 
said Dick, looking at the pale features of 
Nellie. 

“ What is the latest news from Captain 
Wallop?” asked Miss Eivers, knowing what 
was uppermost in her companion’s mind. 

“ I have not seen him for months and had - 
no letter from him in six weeks,” was the 
reply, and again he fastened his bright eyes on 
Nellie. 

“ Have 3"ou not heard that he was seriously 
wounded at Altoona?” Charlene inquired. 

“No, indeed, I have not,” he answered, as 
the blood left his face. 

Nellie, without uttering a word, took from 
beneath her veil the telegram she had received 
from Theophilus a few days before and handed 
it to him. Dick looked troubled and serious 
and then said ; 


228 


TJIEOPJIIL US WALL OP. 


“Wonder if he is in this hospital among 
the dangerously wounded ? ” 

“ He must be,” answered Nellie, as a melan- 
choly shadow overspread her face. 

“ Please remain here a moment till I see if 
I can learn any thing about him,” said Dick, as 
he left them. He was absent but a little 
while when he returned, and as he came in was 
whistling “Yankee Doodle.” The sad features 
of Nellie at once changed, her eyes brightened 
as she arose to hear the news. 

“ Gretting better,” ha said, before he had 
reached the inside of the room. You must 
not see him to-night the surgeon says,^ilT. 
come in the morning Avhen he is free 
feA^er.” There Avas a little disappointment 
this last statement, as he noticed on Nellie’s 
features when he said : 

“ Now, Nellie, you must be more cheerful 
for to-morrow AA^e will all see Theophilus, and 
Ave will go now and see Joe.” 

Dick leading the AA^ay Nellie and Charlene 
folloAved. They passed down a narroAV aisle, 
on either side were double roAvs of cots on 
each of which lay a sick or wounded soldier. 
The passage Avas a long one, and the pale faces 
on the cots made the two girls feel sad indeed. 

At last they turned to the right and into an- 
other hall, and at the corner of a little room sat 
Joe on his cot reading a paper, for the room 
Avas well lighted. Nellie’s eye caught sight of 
her brother’s pale face, and she darted forward 
Avith a suppressed cry of joy, and in a moment 
more brother and sister were in each other’s 
embrace. Many times did she kiss his hand 
and broAV Avhile tears of joy filled both their 
eyes. Dick and Charlene, Avho Avere left stand- 


A BOMAJ^TIO IIISTOBY. 


229 


ing side by side, were much affected by the 
scene. 

After the affectionate greeting of Joe and 
his sister, he was introduced to his cousin and 
a long interview pleasant to all occurred. 
When the hour for “ lights out” came, the two 
young ladies accompanied by Dick took their 
leave and repaired to the Gault House where 
they had secured lodging. To say that Dick 
was supremely happy would be a mild statement 
in that regard. He did not apprehend that 
either of his companions would die from their 
wounds, he had served his country faithfully 
for three years, and was looking daily for his 
final discharge. He was on the eve of return- 
ing to his friends, and the sight of Nellie’s 
handsome face and that of her cousin had filled 
him with new life and aspirations. He re- 
mained in the parlor of the hotel till late in 
the night, talking over things of the past and 
his varied experiences in the war. 

After Dick had bade them good-niglit, Char- 
lene insisted on retiring early, for well she 
knew Nellie would require sleep to enable 
her to pass the ordeal of the next day. But 
Nellie could not sleep, for it was the great 
occasion of her life. To meet her lover after 
so much anxiety, and all that had happened in 
his absence, would be trying on her nerves ; 
but now that he was almost at death’s door, 
she Avas fearful that she Avould not be able to 
conduct herself so as not to excite him and 
his injury. She passed a restless and sleep- 
less night except a short Avhile in the morn- 
ing. Charlene took great pains, after they 
had eaten a very light breakfast, in arranging 
Nellie’s golden hair, and rubbed her cheeks to 


230 


TIIEOPIIIL US WALL OP. 


bring the crimson blood to the surface, but to 
no purpose. Dick met them at the surgeon’s 
quarters at nine o’clock in the morning, and 
after a few words he led them through the 
long passage ways, but this time turning to 
the left. 

Dick had not yet seen the captain, and left 
the ladies in the aisle till he found him. He 
wafe not long in discovering his prostrate com- 
rade on a cot near one end of the room. The 
two shook hands gently but warmly, and after 
a few words of greeting, Dick beckoned the 
ladies to him. 

Nellie was already shivering like a leaf in 
autumn, while Charlene was whispering in her 
ear to be brave. They moved gently forward 
for all around them was pain and death. 
Captain Wallop fastened his dark blue eyes 
on the little trembling form approaching him, 
her face was colorless, but her black and 
piercing eyes told him plainly that it was his 
darling Nellie. She knelt down by his cot in 
front of the white pillow, placed one white 
hand in his and the other tenderly on his pale 
brow. She silently but ferventlj^ kissed his 
brave lips. He placed his arm around her 
white neck, and pressed her upon his throb- 
bing bosom, but all was as silent as the tomb. 
Great tears came from his eyes while his lips 
quivered as he spoke. “ Nellie, Nellie,” was 
all he could say. She answered while sob- 
bing, her heart full of love and pity : 

“ Theophilus, you will live for my sake will 
you not ? ” 

“ Yes, darling, if God wills it.” 

Nellie remembering Charlene’s words, and 
that she was in the presence of many brave 


A BOMANTIC HISTOBY. 


231 


boys almost wounded to death, arose from 
the cot and presented to her lover her cousin, 
who through her tears shook his hand gently 
and kissed his forehead. Theophilus though 
too weak to talk, except in a very low tone, 
greeted the young lady cordially for he had 
come to regard her almost as Nellie’s sister. 
Nellie asked Dick if the authorities would 
allow her lover to be removed to a room at 
the hotel. He answered that he would find 
out, and while he was consulting those in 
charge, Nellie returned to the cot and while 
gently stroking his hair obtained his ready 
consent to be removed to a room at the hotel. 

That afternoon both Joe and Theophilus 
shook hands with each other in the hotel, and 
while occupying separate rooms for ten iiays 
they remained in the tender care of a first- 
class surgeon, Dick, Charlene, and Nellie. 
The small bone of Joe’s leg had been frac- 
tured but not so badly as to require amputation 
and the flesh wound in his arm was giving him 
but little trouble. Captain Wallop had been 
wounded in the right breast, a minie-ball pass- 
ing through his lung. When the ball struck 
him he had bled profusely until he had fainted 
and lost consciousness. He was discovered in 
the ditch where he fell by Lieutenant Hill, and 
cared for by him until sent North early the 
following morning, while Joe came on the 
evening train. 

Every comfort that the hotel could obtain 
was furnished the two soldiers, and Theoph- 
ilus enjoyed one more than is usually allotted 
to mortals in his condition, for Nellie was 
hourly by his side ministering to every want. 
Each day he grew stronger, and with his im- 


232 


TIIEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


provement the sad face of Xellie changed, and 
the rosy cheeks came back again, while her 
eyes beamed brightly as in days before. 

Each day she would sit by his bedside and 
gaze into his manly face, while her heart was 
full of tender but ardent love for him, and he 
would hold her little hand in his and feast his 
soul on her sweet smiles and gentle looks. 

The day had come when Joe no longer 
required the aid of his physician, when he 
could return to his home with an honorable 
discharge from his country’s service. The- 
ophilus was yet too weak to leave his room, 
and it was agreed that Dick should continue 
with him till all possible danger was past. 
Nellie was spending her last hour with her 
lover before she left him in the care of Dick. 
They were alone. At his request she sang, 
softly and sweetly, “The Swanee River.” It 
had been four long troubled years since he 
had heard such music and it thrilled his very 
soul. He looked into her sweet face and ten- 
derly asked her if, when his next battle was 
successfully fought, she would be his forever. 

“ What battle do you yet have to fight, 
pray ? ” 

“ The awTul charge that I stole Surrilda 
Pepper’s money.” 

“You are already free of that charge in my 
mind.” 

“ I know it, dear,” he said, “ but I must be 
vindicated before I can look your good father 
in the face and ask for your hand.” 

“Then as you like, Theophilus, for I love 
you better than all else on eailli.” Again 
and again he kissed her and the two happy 
souls parted. That afternoon he dictated and 


A liOMANTiC IIIsrollY. 


233 


Dick wrote his resignation as captain of his 
company on account of his wound, while Joe 
and the two happy girls were traveling home- 
ward. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

The war was over. The boys in blue were 
returning from the field of strife and blood. 
Cannons were firing, flags waving, and the 
three comrades had been at home many 
months. Theophilus had made his good 
mother happy by returning to her restored in 
health and wearing well-earned laurels as an 
officer in the army, as well as an honorable 
scar. He did not again live at his old home, 
for he felt, when there, that he was a trespas- 
ser. In company with his mother he visited 
the family cemetery, where he was again and 
a<rain assured of his father’s intention to chansje 

O o 

the hastily made will had he not died so sud- 
denly. He had met his brother and oftered 
him his hand, but with a snarl and savage 
look Samuel had turned away and left him. 

The June term of the Circuit court was in 

sesssion. Two important cases were for trial 
which had attracted a great number of specta- 
tors. Judge Bicknell presided. These cases 
were, viz : “ The State of Indiana vs Theophi- 
lus Wallop, indictment for grand larceny ; 
and Theophilus Wallop vs Samuel Wallop, in 
which the plaintifl* claimed to be the owner of 
all the property, amounting to fifteen thou- 
sand dollars, which had been owned by the 
late Anthony Wallop. Surl & Creep, attor- 
neys, assisted the prosecutor. Major Simpson ; 
while Thomas R. Crowbar represented the 


234 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


defendant. It was agreed by counsel that the 
couii; and jury should hear the evidence in the 
State’s cause and that the will, and facts sur- 
rounding its execution, of Anthony Wallop, 
deceased, should be given in evidence to the 
court, and that after the jury had given its 
verdict in the State’s case, then upon all the 
evidence heard the courf should decide the 
civil suit. A great number of witnesses were 
in attendance. The jury was impanelled and 
sworn to try the case, after the defendant had 
pleaded not guilty to the charge. 

Surrilda Pepper was the first witness for 
the prosecution. She gave an account of the 
transaction, and fully identified the prisoner 
as the young, man who staid at her house the 
night before she missed the money. 

She looked at the young captain, now 
handsomely attired, and a shudder passed 
over her as she glanced at his earnest eyes, 
fixed upon hers. 

She told her pathetic story, occasionally 
shedding a few tears, and was going into the 
details of her dream, when Mr. Crowbar ob- 
jected, insisting that the case should be tried 
on facts, not visions. The court sustained 
the objection and admonished the witness to 
tell what she saw and heard while awake. 
Major Simpson very triumphantly turned the 
witness over for cross-examination. 

“Had you ever seen the prisoner before the 
time your money was taken?” asked Mr. 
Crowbar. 

“ No sir, and have never seen him since till 
now.” 

“ Had you shown your money to anyone 
recently before it was taken ? ” 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


235 


“Yes, my sister had seen it.” 

“ When had your sister seen the money 
before it was taken ? ” 

“ On the Sunday before.” 

‘ ‘ How did she come to see it ? ” 

‘ ‘ I showed it to her, how do you suppose 
she saw it ? ” 

“Who else were present?” 

“ Keuben and Jerry Halter, sitting over 
there ;” at which Mr. Crowbar looked at the 
young man inquiringly for a moment and 
then turning to the witness said : 

“ Eeuben is your husband, I believe.” 

“ Yes, he is supposed to be.” 

“ There is no doubt about that is there? ” 

“ Guess not,” said Mrs. Pepper, as she 
made a face at the attorney. 

“What kind of money was it that you 
lost?” asked Mr. Crowbar. 

“ It was nearly all gold.” 

“ What was it wrapped in? ” 

“ It was in my ‘ redicule.’ ” 

‘ ‘ Where did you get the reticule ? ” 

“That is none of your business,” said the 
witness sharply. 

“Answer the question,” interposed the 
court. 

“ Well, if he must know, I brought the 
‘ redicule’ with me from Calliner.” 

“ Had it marks of any kind on it? ” 

“ It had my name on it sewed into the 
goods.” 

Here again Mr. Crowbar turned his large 
brown eyes on Samuel Wallop who was sit- 
ting near Mr. Creep, who was taking notes of 
the evidence and occasionally glancing wisely 
about the room, Samuel was tearing up a 


236 


TIIEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


piece of paper and throwing it upon the floor 
(much to the distress of the ])ailiflr wdio did 
the sweeping) and did not lift his eyes. 

“ AVould you know the reticule if you w^ere 
to see it again?” inquired the defendant’s at- 
torney. 

“Know it? I w^ould know it anyw^here,” 
was the answ^er. 

Mr. Crowbar took from beneath his chair a 
small valise, which he very slowdy and delib- 
erately unlocked, while the crowM of specta- 
tors. looked eagerly on at the proceedings. 
The lawyer unfolded a faded piece of goods, 
to which was attached a string at two sides, 
which he laid lightly in Surrilda’s lap. Her 
little eyes glistened and seizing it in her 
hands, she plunged her bony fingers into it as 
if she expected to get her money back again. 
She turned it inside out and on discovering 
her own name, she instantly exclaimed, “Eeu- 
ben, this is it ! ” 

“ You are certain of it, Mrs. Pepper?” said 
Mr. Crow'bar. 

“ Yes, I know it. Where did you get it?” 

“ You will learn later,” answered the law- 
yer. 

Mrs. Pepper was dismissed from the stand, 
when Eeuben, her husband, came forw^ard. He 
wore his easy contented look, and wdth delib- 
erate step took the stand. 

“You are the husband of Surrilda Pep- 
per ? ” said the prosecutor. 

“Yes.” 

‘ ‘ Where do you live ? ” 

‘ ‘ In Stamper’s Creek township, this county.” 

“Did you live there in June and July, 
1860 ?” 


A Ii03fA]>rTIC inSTORT. 




“ Yes sir, I do not change my residence 
like some people,” said Mr. Pepper, looking 
at Captain Wallop, while Mr. Creep winked 
at his associate counsel. 

“ AVliere was you the night your wife’s 
money was stolen?” 

“ I was at home in bed, sir.” 

“ Who staid all night with you that night, 
if anyone.” 

“That man you call Wallop,” said he, point- 
ing his closed knife toward where the pris- 
oner was sitting. 

“ AYhat did the young man do that night, 
unusual if anything ? ” 

“ Don’t know, sir, I was asleep, but he left 
the next morning before breakfast.” 

“ When did you learn that your wife’s 
money had been stolen ? ” 

“ Next day after dinner.” 

“ What did you do at that time?” 

“ Went to the house and examined the 
ground about the spring house where the 
money had been hid by my old woman.” 

“What did you find?” 

“ I found a pretty large track made by a 
person wearing a big shoe or boot.” 

“ Did you ineasui-e the tracks?” 

“ Yes sir.” 

“ Can you give the size of the track to the 
jury?” 

“ Yes sir, the track was ten inches long, 
three inches across the ball of the foot, and 
one and three-quarter inches across the heel.” 

“ Have you ever compared the measure- 
ments you made with shoes worn by the de- 
fendant?” 

“ Yes sir, about a week after the crime I 


^38 


TlimPlIlL ITS WALL OP. 


measured an old pair of his shoes and I am 
sure it was the same size of the track. 

‘‘ Take the witness/’ said Major Simpson. 

“ M^here did 3^ou see the prisoner’s shoes? ” 
asked Mr. Crowbar. 

“ At my house,” said the witness. 

“ AYho brought them there?” 

“ Samuel M^allop, the prisoner’s brother.” 

“M^as anyone with Samue] when he came?” 

“ Yes sir, Jerry Halter was with him.” 

“ MHaat time in the day did Halter and 
Samuel arrive at your house ? ” 

“ They came after night, nearly midnight, I 
believe.” 

“ ^Vhen did they go away again? ” 

“ In about an hour.” 

“ You did the measurhig of the tracks 
while one of them held the light didn’t 3^011?” 

“ No sir, Samuel measured the shoes while 
I held the light.” 

“ You then measured the track at the spring 
house ? ” asked the law3^er. 

“No sir, the track had partl3^ disappeared 
by that time.” 

“ This track in the mud near the spring 
house is the only track you saw, was it, Mr. 
Pepper ? ” 

“ No sir, I did not say that.” 

“ Then what other tracks did you see?” 

‘ ‘ I did not see any other track made by a 
man.” 

“ M^hat was the track made b3^ that you 
saw, and where did you see it?” 

“ I think, gentlemen of the jury, that the 
prisoner had an ‘ accomplish ’ with him when he 
got the money,” said Mr. Pepper, as he turned 


A BOMAJVTIC HISTORY. 


239 


facing the jury, “ for there had been a horse 
hitched party close by.” 

“ Where had this horse been hitched?” said 
counsel for the defense. 

‘ ‘ About a hundred yards from our spring 
house, to a tree.” 

“You could not see the horse’s tracks very 
plainly, could you?” said Mr. Crowbar me- 
chanically. 

“Yes, I could, Mr. Lawyer, and its no use 
for you to try to get your man out of this 
scrape by disputing my word.” 

“ I beg your pardon, Mr. Pepper, 1 was 
merely suggesting.” 

“Well, then you ask me plain questions 
and I will tell you the truth.” 

“ Very well, Mr. Pepper, you will now be 
kind enough to describe the horse tracks you 
saw to the jury.” 

“ I object,” said the prosecutor. “It is a 
man we are trying and not a horse.” 

“ The question is competent,” said the 
court, “ proceed with the evidence.” 

“Well,” continued the witness, “I saw 
several tracks made by a horse, and I meas- 
ured them.” 

‘ ‘ What was the size of them ? ” asked the 
defendant’s attorney. 

“Well, sir, one of the tracks was four in- 
ches and a half wide and five and three-quarter 
inches long.” 

“Will you please look at this,” said Mr. 
Crowbar, handing the witness a partl}^ worn 
horseshoe which Yhe witness examined for a 
moment, then said : 

‘ ‘ This is a shoe that has been on the foot of 
a horse.” 


240 


TIIEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


“Will you please measure the length and 
width of that shoe?” said the lawyer, handing 
witness a two-foot rule. 

Again the attorney for the state objected, 
but the court overruled the objection with the 
statement that it was a proper cross examina- 
tion. 

“ This shoe,” continued the witness, “ is just 
the size of the track I measured.” 

Here the witness was dismissed, and he left 
the stand believing that he had very much 
damaged the defendant and furnished a basis 
to convict someone else connected with him 
in the commission of the otfense. 

Mr. Grewel was the next witness, and after 
stating that he had come all the wa}^ from 
Missouri to testify, gave his statement, fully 
identifying the prisoner as the person who had 
worked for him, with the conduct and state- 
ments of the prisoner at the time he saw him. 
He was not cross-examined, and the state 
rested its case. 

“ Call Jerry Halter as our first witness,” 
said Mr. Crowbar. 

He came forward, his face flushed, for he 
had cultivated the habit of using intoxicating 
liquor, and on this occasion was considerably 
under its influence. 

“ Will you please examine this pair of 
boots?” said Mr. Crowbar, while he handed 
the witness a pair of calf-skin boots consider- 
ably worn. 

“ I’ll look at ’em,” said the witness, first 
turning the bottoms upwai*d^, then sitting them 
down by his side. 

“ Please tell the jury whose property they 
are now or have been, if you know.” 

Again the prosecutor objected, unless the 


A BOIfAJVTIC III8T0BY. 


241 


defense would disclose the purpose of the tes- 
timony ; this the court would not do, but ad- 
monished the witness that he would not com- 
pel him to give any testimony which would 
tend to convict himself. This matter settled, 
the counsel for defense again asked the ques- 
tion. 

“ Spect they were mine, ’bout my size, but 
can’t say (hie) zacly, but think they are 
mine.” 

With this short testimony he was dismissed. 

Here the boots, which were the exact size of 
the tracks left at the spring house, were shown 
to the jury. 

Oliver Latemeal testified to the occasion of 
the larceny, and described a horse with three 
white feet going and returning from the place 
of the crime on the night of its commission. 
He also testified that the horseshoe in court 
fitted the measurement of the track of the same 
horse. 

He said he had first seen the shoe in a 
blacksmith shop some six miles east of where 
Mr. Pepper lived, and that he now recognized 
it by a file mark he had then placed upon it. 

Jesse Taylor was the next witness. He 
said he was a blacksmith by trade, that in 
1860 he kept a shop some six miles east of 
Mr. Pepper’s. The horseshoe that was now 
in court had been in his possession since 
about three weeks after the crime. 

“ State, if y’ou please, Mr. Taylor, where 
and how you came in possession of the shoe,” 
asked Mr. Crowbar. 

“I took the shoe off a horse at the time be- 
longing to Mrs. Charity MeSquint.” 

“ Who had the horse at 3^0111* shop?” 


242 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


“Jerry Halter, who lived with her at the 
time.” 

“ Describe the horse to the jury,” said the 
lawyer. 

“ He was a bay horse with three white feet, 
and was known in the community by the name 
of ‘ stockin’ ’ John.” 

Here Clarissy Outright gave the late Mrs. 
McSquint a withering look, which made the 
latter return the compliment with a distorted 
countenance such as only Charity could when 
she felt an extreme contempt for one. 

“ You may state, Mr. Taylor, whether you 
saw any persons on the evening of the day 
when the crime is said to have been commit- 
ted, going in the direction of Mr. Pepper’s 
residence ? ” 

“Yes sir, I saw the defendant Wallop go- 
ing past my shop about five o’clock in the 
evening.” 

“ State whether you saw anyone else the 
same day, if so give their names to the jury.” 

“ I saw Jerry Halter and Sam Wallop near 
my shop a little after sundown of that day.” 

‘ ‘ What were they doing ? ” 

“Samuel was walking when I first saw 
him, and Halter was riding the ‘ stockin’ ’ 
John horse, both coming along a path from 
the south, when they came to the road they 
turned west.” 

“ Where were you at the time? ” 

‘ ‘ I was on the inside of my shop and saw 
them through a crevice.” 

He was cross-examined at great length, 
went over his story again, and gave as his 
reason for keeping the shoe in his possession 
so long, that it was at the suggestion of Mr. 


A ROMANTIC HISTORY. 


m 

Latemeal wlio gave it as bis opinion that the 
accused was not the guilty party. 

A great number of witnesses tlien testified 
to the good character of the prisoner for hon- 
esty prior to the charge. 

Aaron Flint was then called, he gave a de- 
tailed account of the burning of Anthony Wal- 
lop’s house, the finding of the reticule behind 
the window casing of Samuel’s room, and then 
described the actions of Samuel when he ar- 
rived. His evidence was given slowly and 
candidly and made a great impression on the 
audience and officers of the court. Samuel 
Wallop, who up to this time had been pale and 
quiet, now turned red in the face, and it was 
plain that he was much excited. 

Dick Spooner was the next witness. It re- 
quired quite an effort on the part of the bail- 
iff to quiet the spectators, for it had become 
known that he was an important witness for 
the defense. Dick was in a happy mood for 
the evidence of Mr. Taylor was new to him, 
and it supplied a missing link he had not been 
able to discover. 

He said that he had been acquainted with 
the parties all his life, and in a clear voice tes- 
tified to all the facts he had learned while in- 
vestigating the matter before going into the 
army. He had given his statement as to his 
measurements of the horse “ stockin’ John,” 
the overheard conversations between Samuel 
and Halter, the night trip of Halter to the 
fallen oak tree, and was giving the facts con- 
nected with the finding of the empt}^ reticule, 
when an unusual court scene occurred. Sam- 
uel Wallop arose from his seat his frame quiv- 
ering, his face flushed, and tears running down 


244 


THEOP HIL US WALL OP. 


his thill face. He gave a wild shriek, and 
iliiiging his arms over his head he yelled in 
agonizing tones: “Take him away! Dick 
Spooner is going to shoot me.” He then let 
fall a string of oaths on the prisoner, and 
again yelled most piteonsly for Jerry Halter 
to help him. The baililF and bystanders took 
him from the room, but not without a strug- 
gle. Dick concluded his testimony, and the 
defense rested. The prosecution offered no 
rebuttal testimony, but promptly offered to 
dismiss the prosecution. “ No,” said Mr. 
Crowbar, “ my client is not willing that this 
black charge which has followed him for years 
shall now be dismissed ; he desires a verdict 
from his countrymen which will vindicate him 
for all time.” 

“The defendant is entitled to a verdict in 
the cause one way or the other,” said the court. 

“We are ready to return a verdict without 
leaving the "box,” said the foreman of the 
jury, and they did, finding the defendant not 
guilty. 

This was the occasion for a burst of ap- 
plause from the bystanders which the court 
tried in vain to stop, but gave a few minutes 
recess during which Captain Wallop was the 
recipient of many congratulations. 

“ Are you now ready to dispose of the 
civil suit?” said the court to the attorneys, 
after again calling to order. 

“We are ready for the plaintiff,” said Mr. 
Crowbar. 

“Call the Eev. Jehew Thornbush,” said 
Surl. 

“ What other evidence does the plaintiff 
wish to present ? ” said the court. 


A B03IA]^T1C mSTOJKY. 


245 


“We wish to read the will of the late 
Anthony Wallop,” said Mr. Crowbar, “if 
Brother Thornbush will ])e kind enough to 
give it to me.” The minister handed the doc- 
ument to the plaintiffs attorney, wdio read it in 
a clear tone as follows : 

I, Anthony Wallop, being of sound mind and 
disposing memory, and recognizing my duty 
to an all-wise Creator, and my responsibility 
to a family intrusted to my care, do make and 
publish this my last will and testament, hereby 
revoking all former wills by me at any time 
made. 

First. I will that all my just debts and fu- 
neral expenses be paid out of any moue}" I may 
have on hand at the time of my death. 

Item second. It is ni}^ will that five thou- 
sand dollars in government bonds now belong- 
ing to me, shall on my death be placed in the 

Louisville, Kentucky, bank, to be there 

kept till my executor may be ordered to pay 
the same to my beloved son, on the final settle- 
ment of my estate,. ivJio has lived an honest 
life to that date. 

Item third. It is my will that my other 
son, who has been guilty of the crime of steal- 
ing about six hundred dollars of money be- 
longing to Surrilda Pepper, take no part or 
parcel of my estate, and that when proof of 
such guilt shall be satisfactorily made to the 
court, then all my property both personal and 
real, to which my beloved wife Elizabeth Wal- 
lop is not entitled under the laws of Indiana, 
shall absolutely belong and be turned over to 
my son not guilty of the crime. 

Item fourth. I hereby appoint my friend 
and adviser Kev. Jehew Thornbush my execu- 


246 


THEOPIIIL US WALL OP. 


tor, and direct him to cany out the provisions 
of my will as soon after my death as practi- 
cable. his 

Anthony X Wallop. 
mark. 

Attest : J. Thoenbush. 

Witnesses : 

Jerry Halter, 

Samuel Wallop. 

Samuel had returned to the room accompa- 
nied by the bailiff in a calmer mood, but he 
was very nervous and excited. Halter had 
left the court room long before the verdict of 
the jury had been rendered. 

Samuel had returned in time to hear the 
will read, and had kept his eyes close on Mr. 
Crowbar during the time. 

“May it please the court,” said the attor- 
ney after reading the will, “ we are now ready 
to submit the case on the testimony heard in 
the State’s cause and on the will as it reads.^' 

“No,” said Mr. Surl, “we desire to prove by 
Mr. Thornbush and others that the gnilty son 
mentioned in the third item of the will meant 
Theophilus Wallop who was then charged 
with the crime.” 

“ And if it were competent,” answered Mr. 
Crowbar, “ we are equally able to prove that 
the deceased, at the timely suggestion of his 
good wife purposely omitted to name either of 
his sons as guilty of the crime, but left that 
matter open ior proof as the will states.” 

“ Gentlemen,” said the court, after carefully 
reading the will, “ the law does not allow, as a 
rule, parol testimony to be given to establish 
the purpose and intention of the testator at 


A BOMAJVTIC HISrORY. 


247 


the time of the making of liis will, especially 
so when the purpose and intent can be gath- 
ered from the language of the will itself. 
From a careful reading of this will, it seems 
that it was written under a belief that one of 
the testator’s sons had committed the crime of 
larceny^ and therefore had forfeited his right 
to share in the estate, but he does not men- 
tion the name of the guilty one. 

“ You will notice that he does not use the 
language ‘ charged with the crime,’ but ‘ guilty 
of the crime,’ and then lets the disinheritance 
rest on the fact of satisfactory proof being 
made of .guilt. This being the fair construc- 
tion of the will, and by the agreement of the 
parties that the testimony heard in the State 
cause should be regarded as part of the evi- 
dence in this case, the court finds that Samuel 
Wallop was guilty of the larceny of Surrilda 
Pepper’s money, with one Jerry Halter^ and 
were it not for the fact that the statute of lim- 
itations comes to their relief they could be yet 
tried and punished for the offense. In this 
case, however, the court finds for the plaintiff, 
Theophilus Wallop, and that under his father’s 
will he is entitled to the entire estate, subject 
to his mother’s interest, and that the defendant, 
Samuel Wallop, is by virtue of his crime and 
father’s will disinherited and entitled to no 
part thereof.” 

‘ ‘ The executor is directed to at once turn 
over the property to the plaintiff, take his 
receipt, and make his final report to court.” 

When the court had finished its judgment a 
moment of silence followed. All eyes were 
turned upon Samuel, on whose face the large 
veins began to grow. The muscles of his 


248 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


hands and face twitched convulsively, he 
gazed at the court wildly, and again broke 
forth in a storm of profanity. He was again 
taken charge of by the officers, and Ibis time 
confined in jail. Again was Captain Wallop 
congratulated, but he was very sober and 
quiet. After the proceedings were at an end, 
he, in company wdth his mother and Dick, 
marched away from the curious crowd. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Rev. Jehew Thornbush and his wife si- 
lently left the court scene in which Captain 
Wallop had been so triumphantly acquitted, 
greatly humiliated. The minister had not 
been among the number who had extended a 
hand to the young soldier who had emerged 
from the disgraceful charge, for he could only 
remember him as a disobedient youth and a 
fugitive from justice. Charity relieved her 
pent-up wrath by abusing the court, jury, and 
witnesses. 

When they arrived at home, they found 
Jerry stretched out on the bed in a drunken 
stupor, where, for the present, he was allowed 
to remain. 

It was the next morning, however, wffien 
matters at the minister’s house had assumed a 
serious aspect. Jerry w^as again lying on the 
bed, now duly sober, but with many bruises 
and marks on his body. His face was pale, 
and he was scarcely able to turn in the bed. 

Charity sat by him moaning and nervous, 
while Mr. Thornbush w^as reading a short and 
badly-written paper. It was not one of those 
sad afflictions which naturally befall happy 


A BOJfAJS^TIC HISTORY. 


249 


families, and which causes the neighl:)ors to 
huny to their assistance. It was at an early 
hour in the morning of the preceding day, 
Avhen all of the household were lost in sleep, 
that a half-dozen masked men entered the quiet 
home, and without as much as asking leave, 
dragged Jerry from his couch, and notwith- 
standing the screams of his godmother, took 
him to the woods near by, and after forcing 
him to confess to the crime of stealing Mrs. 
Pepper’s money, they “ regulated ” him in ori- 
ental style, and took him back to the house, 
where they left him, with a notice to leave the 
country in ten days or receive another visit at 
the end of that time. Brother Thornbush was 
reading this notice with interest, for in a post- 
script there was added this significant sentence : 
“now, ^ jahauh thistle,' if you and old ^ chat 
McBquint ’ barbers that thief Halter about 
your premises ten days more, then we will pay 
you and her our regards. 

“ J. Linch.” 

Who the parties were who had taken the 
law in their own hands, and “ regulated” Hal- 
ter was never certainly known, but they were 
generally supposed to be citizens of an adjoin- 
ing county, who were spectators at the trial. 

It was a week later. The night was dark, 
with the misty rain slowly descending to the 
earth. “Stockin’” John was saddled, and 
Jerry Halter, with an old valise in his hand, 
after saying good-bye to Charity, mounted 
the horse, and with the minister on behind 
him, started in a westerly course, leaving the 
scenes of his childhood and checkered career 
behind him. Brother Thornbush returned late 


250 


THEOPHIL US WALL OP. 


the following afternoon, but if Jerry Halter 
ever afterward returned to Indiana the fact 
was unknown to his former acquaintances. 

Some three years later it was learned that 
he was an inmate of the Jefferson City, Mis- 
souri, penitentiary, placed there for robbing a 
farmer, and this was the last that is known of 
his history. 

Samnel Wallop grew worse in his ravings 
from week to week until he was finally ad- 
judged insane, and was then placed in the asy- 
lum at the city of Indianapolis, where, two 
years later, he died of what the physicians pro- 
nounced softening of the brain. He had re- 
ceived, however, the kindest care from his 
mother and brother, but the sight of Theoph- 
ilus always set him to raving with excitement, 

Keuben and Surrilda were much surprised 
to learn that the parties who had stolen their 
money were Samuel Wallop and Jerry Halter, 
but now that the fact had been established, 
Reuben could recollect that at the time the 
mone}^ was exhibited to his sister-in-law, and 
while he and Jerry Halter had gone to get 
“Stockin’” John from the stable, Jerry lin- 
gered behind, watching the movements of his 
wife, and he wondered why he had been so 
stupid as not to have suspicioned him of the 
crime. 

No one in the community had rejoiced more 
at the complete vindication of Captain AYallop 
than Dick Spooner ; and he had become very 
popular on account of his effort to bring the 
result about. Many of his old friends had 
persuaded him to enter the government service 
as a detective, while others disapproved the 
step. Captain Wallop was among the number 


A JiOJIANTlC - IliSTOliY. 25l 

who did not wish Dick to leave the neighbor- 
hood, tor he felt that he owed him a debt of 
gratitude wdiich he hoped he might pay by 
Dick’s remaining. Mr. Clayhorn and Mr. 
Flint had each advised Dick that, now the war 
was over, there would be many places of trust 
and profit for him among his friends in the 
country. He was undecided, and laid his case 
before Nellie and her cousin. Nellie very 
promptly and kindly urged him to remain 
among his acquaintances, but what Charlene 
said, to him remains a secret, for their inter- 
views were not always heard by others. He 
did not become a detective, however, for when 
the Fourth of July came, there was a great 
celebration in the Clayborn grove where Dick 
and Nellie used to ramble and devise plans to 
ascertain who had stolen the lost money. 

The people gathered from a great distance, 
and it was said that but two people (Jehew 
Thornbush and his wife) in a radius of ten 
miles remained away from the celebration. 
The new minister, Eev. Paul Lovejoy, was the 
orator of the day and master of ceremonies. 
He had succeeded the Eev. Mr. Thornbush, 
who had become an enfeebled and chronic 
grumbler at the new-fangled ideas of the peo- 
ple. The new minister had very much offended 
Brother Thornbush by a sermon he had preached 
on one occasion. In this sermon the new min- 
ister had denounced the husband who whipped 
his wife as a brute, and had spoken of that sys- 
tem of constant torture of children with instru- 
ments of cruelty as a relic of barbarism. He 
had argued that appeals to the intelligence, and 
kindly treatment of the young were much more 
effective in the bringing them up to honorable 


252 


TIIEOPIIILUS WALLOP. 


lives. He did not l)elieve that corporal pun- 
ishment could he entirely abolished, but he in- 
sisted that it should only occur in extreme 
cases, and then with o-reat caution. He de- 
scribed a home of scolding and switches as a 
place of darkness, from which the children 
would flee at an early period of life. He then 
painted a home where love ruled supreme, 
where -smiles and sunshine lighted every cor- 
ner, and compared it to that home beyond the 
sky where all is joy and peace. He had re- 
ferred to the advocates of despotic home gov- 
ernment as fossils and misguided people, con- 
sequently Brother Thornbush was not on such 
terms with the new minister as to require his 
attendance at the celebration. It was after the 
speech of the day was made that the minister 
stepped down from the rudel^^-constructed plat- 
form, and walked some little distance to a large 
beech tree, in the bark of which, years before, 
had been cut the lettei’S “ T. W.” and “ N. C.” 

Here, beneath the leafy branches of the tree 
which had been the silent witness of their child- 
ish love, which ripened as the letters in the 
tree, as well as themselves, grew larger, The- 
ophilus Wallop and Nellie Clay born were 
joined in marriage. The congratulations ex- 
tended the pair were hearty and many ; but a 
little temporary confusion was created by Dick 
Spooner stepping up to the minister with a 
marriage license in his hand, while Charlene 
Elvers hung blushingly upon his arm. 

In five minutes more Dick and Miss Eivers 
were made man and wife, and while the crowd 
was surging forward to shake the hands of the 
happy twain, the minister good-naturedly sang : 
“ A charge to keep I have.” The benediction 


A ItOMANTIG HISTORY. 


253 


was said, and four happy souls started on a 
new career in their existence. 

Ten years after the marriage of Captain 
Wallop, the writer visited the Clayborn neigh- 
borhood. Joe Clayborn was a member of the 
Indiana Legislature, and was known as the 
“ bachelor” member of County. 

Dick Spooner was entering on his second 
term as Auditor of the County, and owned the 
Anthony Wallop farm, which he had, on easy 
terms, purchased of Captain Wallop, after he 
had received the estate of his father under the 
will. Theophilus was now the owner of a 
large farm, partly given him by Jonathan Clay- 
born, and partly purchased by his own means, 
on which grazed quite a number of blooded 
horses and cattle. He had built a beautiful 
cottage house, to which he had added two com- 
fortable and spacious rooms for his mother. 
The house was situated south and near the high- 
way, while a spring of clear water issued from 
a little elevation near by. There was a porch 
to the west, from which the home of Jonathan 
Clayborn, in which he, his sister, and Joseph, 
yet resided, could be seen, while a veranda or- 
namented the front. The house was dressed 
in a white coat of paint, while thrifty ever- 
green trees standing in regular order added to 
its beauty. 

On either side of the walk leading to the 
garden and out to the front gate was a row of 
sweet-smelling flowers, while the little meadow 
to the east had been newly mown and the 
breath of which was Ailing the air. The inside 
of the house was cosy and neat, while the walls 
of the rooms were decorated with large pictures 
of friends, military chieftains, and statesmen. 


254 THEOPIIILUS WALLOP. 

In the parlor hung the life-size picture of 
Mother Wallop, in a beautiful frame, while the 
next largest picture was that of Dick Spooner. 
Beneath the mother’s picture were the words 
" Our Mother,” and under the picture of Spoon- 
er were the words “ Our Faithful Friend.” 

On the lap of Captain Wallop there sat a lit- 
tle boy, Dick, and a little girl, Eose. About 
them were many to^^s and trinkets, such as de- 
lighted their hearts. Over the front door was 
the motto “ God bless our home.” 

It was after we had eaten such a dinner as 
as only an expert farmer’s wife can prepare, 
that we took a glance at the home and its sur- 
roundings. The furniture was not of mahoof- 
any, nor the carpets Brussels, save one, but 
there was such an air of comfort and elegance 
about this country home, that we felt inter- 
ested in it, and said : 

“ Captain, you have a most lovely home and 
family.” 

“ Yes sir, I am as well off in this world as 
Yanderbilt.” 

“You do not mean that you have as much 
treasure ? ” 

“ Yes sir ; but not as much money and prop- 
erty.” 

“ You do not, then, regard money aiid prop- 
erty as treasure altogether?” said the writer. 

“ Indeed I do not. I have a home with the 
surrounding comforts of life, while the inside 
is full of love and sunshine.” 

“ I see your good old mother lives with 
you.” 

“Yes, she contributes to the happiness of 
our home. I am trying to make her feel as 


A HOJIAJ^TIC HISTORY. 


255 


happy now as she tried to make me when I 
was a child.” 

“ You have the clouds, tempests, and storms, 
like others, I presume ? ” 

‘‘We have clouds and sorrow, hut we dis- 
pense with the luxuries of tempests and 
storms,” said the captain, looking at his mother 
and smiling. 

“ What do you do with little Dick, here, 
when he behaves badly ? ” 

‘ ‘ I take him on my knee and kiss him and 
speak kindly to him.” 

‘ ‘ I am afraid that would not be efiective 
with every little boy.” 

‘ ‘ I had rather risk it than a lick over the 
little fellow’s head,” he answered. 

“ You do not believe in corporal punishment 
of children, then?” the writer inquired. 

“Not to a great extent; a burnt child is 
afraid of the fire,” said the Captain, good-na- 
turedly. “I believe,” he continued, “that 
every child of intelligence has a good and .a bad 
side to its nature, and that it is the parents’ 
duty to to nurse and cultivate the better qual- 
ities, and that this can better be done by kind 
words than by blows.” 

“Do you not think that there are times 
when punishment is a necessity? ” 

“Yes, but that necessity is brought about 
by inattention to the better qualities which 
dwell in every intelligent being.” 

“ Do I understand you that children are 
taught to do wrong by punishing them ? ” 

“ They are not taught that, but that is often 
the effect of punishment. A child may be pos- 
sessed of a combative nature, and that peculiar 
quality wilt grow with the child in proportion 


256 


THEOPHILUS WALLOP. 


to the amount of beating he gets for it ; Avhile, 
if his peaceful qualities were kindly cultivated, 
his tendency to be good-natured would be 
greatly strengthened.” 

Here Nellie interrupted the conversation by 
sitting down on a little stool close by the Cap- 
tain’s side. Her dark eyes were full of a 
kindly expression, and not a tinge of sorrow 
appeared upon the happy face. We had shaken 
hands -with Mother Wallop, and the entire fam- 
ily, and were in the act of leaving the model 
home, when the Captain said: “Wait a mo- 
ment.” We did wait, and listened to the happy 
mother and children sing in beautiful harmony 
“ Way down upon the Swanee Eiver,” 

The Captain’s face beamed with joy ; and we 
left that country home fully satisfied that mil- 
lions of other homes could be improved by fill- 
ing them with love and smiles, and removing 
from them frowns, switches, hard words, and 
instruments of torture. 


THE END. 



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